


(If You Could Only See) The Beast You've Made of Me

by JR_Granger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF!Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/M, Fake Character Death, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Werewolf!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2017-12-27 07:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JR_Granger/pseuds/JR_Granger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the whole kanima deal the pack hopes to relax. Sadly, this is Beacon Hills, so that doesn't happen.</p><p>There are a rash of attempted sacrifices, all found in the nick of time by Lydia. She and Stiles start checking things out, leading to the discovery of the darach and the realization that Stiles is the perfect sacrifice - all in time for him to be captured.</p><p>Things from there just all go downhill in Stiles' humble opinion. Though, admittedly, he's a little emotionally compromised and more than a little pissed off at everybody right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just an fyi: in this 'verse Sheriff Stilinski finds out about the supernatural world at the same time as Melissa, there may or may not be the alpha pack, and Jackson stuck around for all the fun.

Lydia keeps finding people, all with their wrists and throats slashed so they’re slowly bleeding out, but she finds them all just in time.

Nobody knows why she’s the one finding them, or how, and they don’t really have much to go on besides her immunity to wolf bites and kanima venom and the little resurrection stunt Peter pulled using her. So they decide instead to focus their attention and resources on finding out what the hell’s going on around Beacon Hills this time.

Well, Stiles and Lydia are working on it. Scott and Allison are both too busy moping after each other, and Derek’s definitely got his hands full with four betas to train, not to mention Peter to deal with.

As if that weren’t enough, Scott and Stiles have to field questions from their parents, which is not fun, no matter how relieved they are to finally be finished with all the lying and sneaking around.

So anyway, Lydia and Stiles, with the grudging help of the Sheriff and Ms. McCall – who figure they should just help because these two will find ways to get information whether they get help or not – look at the victims for some sort of pattern. The first to notice someone is attempting sacrifices is Stiles, but Lydia’s the one who figures out who – or rather what – is behind it all: a darach.

Which explains the victims; they’re all in groups of three and the groups go as follows: virgins, warriors, philosophers, healers, guardians.

But as soon as they figure that out they realize they have the perfect sacrifice right in their midst, someone who fits all the requirements: Stiles. And by that time he’s already been captured by the darach.

 

* * *

 

The first thought in Stiles’ head as he wakes up with a groan is “did I remember to save my last game of Pokémon?” which, all things considered, shouldn’t be at the top of the list of his things to worry about, but seriously he had _just_ captured one of the legendaries, he couldn’t not save that.

His priorities are straightened out for him when Stiles receives a well-placed kick to the solar plexus, with a stiletto heel no less, making him gasp for air, which subsequently leads to him noticing the expertly knotted rope tying him to a support beam in some sort of root cellar with literal, ginormous roots right in his field of vision.

“Look alive, sunshine, it’s your lucky day,” a vaguely familiar voice says from the direction the kick came from.

Blinking rapidly to clear the stars from the kick and squinting in the near-darkness lit only by small shafts of moonlight by the roots, Stiles looks up to find his English teacher.

“Ms. Blake?” he coughs, still trying to catch his breath.

She smirks. “Hello, Stiles.” Crouching in front of him, Jennifer reaches out a hand to stroke his cheek then grabs him roughly by the chin when he tries to turn his face away, making him look at her. “You just have to stick your nose in everybody’s business, don’t you?”

Glaring at her, he retorts, “Well, no offence, but I’m pretty sure it’s my business when someone starts killing all the virgins in town; solidarity and all that.”

“Sweet, adorable Stiles. I really don’t understand why no one wants to fuck you with a mouth like that.”

He spits in her face, earning him a harsh slap. Stiles just shakes his head as much as he can and tests his jaw. “You’ll have to try harder than that,” he snarks. “I hang out with werewolves, and I’m their favorite chew toy, so I’m used to a little pain.”

Jennifer stands back up, brushing at her knees to rid them of imaginary dirt. “I know,” she says, walking over to lean back against the tree roots in a flood of moonlight, “and that’s what’s so _fascinating_ ; a human running with a pack of werewolves, holding his own.

“I mean, Allison I get; she’s a skilled hunter, one who fell in love with a wolf. Classic Romeo and Juliet-type story with a supernatural twist. And Lydia, she’s Jackson’s anchor, has a genius-level IQ, and she’s something… more. Not sure what, exactly, quite yet, but I’ll figure it out.

“But you. You, I don’t get.” She walks back over, saunters really; Stiles would swear she had gotten lessons from Derek it was so eerily familiar.

Crouching down again, Jennifer strokes a hand from his temple and down his neck, pausing to splay it over his heart. “Sure, your best friend’s a werewolf, but what should that matter to you? You haven’t really got anything going for you, there’s no need for you to get involved in our affairs. But you do. More willingly than Scott. And _that’s_ interesting.”

Seemingly finished with her little speech, Stiles decides it’s his chance to ask something. “Why me?”

Head tilted to the side in askance, Jennifer clicks her tongue in disappointment. “Really Stiles, for being the brains of the whole operations, I’d have thought you would’ve had it all figured out by now.”

“I know you’re a darach, and I know you’re making sacrifices. What I don’t know is what you think you’re going to accomplish by taking me.”

“The thing is, your little crush Lydia? She keeps finding my sacrifices before they’re completed. So I figured I could just take care of all five categories in one go.

“And that’s where you come in.”

Bewildered, Stiles actually laughs in her face. “Me? You’ve gotta be high or stupid, Ms. Blake, seriously. All you’re gonna take care of using me is the virgin category."

Humming, Jennifer’s eyes shoot rapidly over his face, searching for something. “You really think that, don’t you? You far underestimate yourself, Stiles.

“Yes, it’s true, you will fill my need for a virgin, but you fill the others just as perfectly.” Moving around behind him, she starts to untie the ropes, continuing to talk. “You filled the role of warrior when you threw that Molotov at Peter Hale last year; philosopher you fill every day with your curiosity of the supernatural world, leading to you having all the answers when the others don’t; healer by helping Lydia after Peter’s attack; and guardian by keeping the kanima away from Derek while he was paralyzed in the school pool, by shielding Lydia from all those crows in my classroom.”

Stiles can’t help but be more than slightly creeped out at the fact she knows all that; seems Ms. Blake is even more of a Stalker McStalkerson than Derek.

“You, Stiles,” she crawls back around as she finishes untying him from the beam, though his arms and legs are still bound, “are the perfect sacrifice, made all the better by the fact that your death will hurt not just Scott but the entire pack, leaving them open and vulnerable.”

He seriously doubts anyone besides his dad and Scott, maybe Allison and Ms. McCall, will miss him when he’s gone. They’ll all probably celebrate once they’re rid of the annoying chatterbox who never shuts up and is constantly yapping about being right all along. Derek, he’s even surer, will miss him least of all and will be anything but vulnerable.

He lets her think she’s right though because, hey that way she’ll let _her_ guard down so that his dad or the pack can take care of her, avenge his death or something. That would be cool, someone avenging his death.

Taking hold of the rope binding his arms, Jennifer drags Stiles over to the tree and ties his upper body to the largest root, slices the rope holding his arms and ties them stretched out from his sides, wrists facing up, before pulling out a wicked-looking knife.

“Anything you’d like to say before I slit your wrists and throat and leave you here for your pack to find, cold and dead?”

He shrugs as best he can. “Eh, not really. Kinda wish I could set you on fire, or watch Scott rip out your throat though.”

That sadly only makes her laugh. “Oh Stiles, I am truly going to miss having you in class.” And with that she makes smooth cuts on both his wrists, slicing clean though the tendons so he can’t even clench his fists though the sharp pain, then pulls his head back roughly with a tight grip on his newly grown out hair and slashes across his throat, making sure to avoid the jugular so he bleeds out slowly and painfully.

Stiles gasps through the pain, recoiling when she leans forward to place a chaste kiss on his forehead, then watches her leave by the stairs across the cellar.

He lies there for what feels like forever and only a few minutes at the same time, vision whiting out, hearing becoming muffled and static-y, and limbs tingling painfully.

Just when he’s about to pass out Stiles swears he sees a pair of familiar red eyes fading into even more familiar hazel, worried and panicked, distant voice growling and begging for Stiles to stay with him as hands untie him and attempt to staunch the blood flow.

 

* * *

 

When Lydia figures out who the perfect sacrifice is the Sheriff rushes around town in search of Stiles and comes up empty handed and shaking, so she calls Scott and Derek, demanding they all meet up _immediately_.

The entire pack plus Chris Argent, surprisingly – probably forced Allison to bring him – gather at the burnt out shell of the Hale house. Everyone scrambles to ask Lydia what’s going on, where’s Stiles, all of them talking over each other until Derek growls for them to shut the fuck up and let Lydia talk.

“While you were all busy being obnoxious children that don’t know how to listen to daddy,” that earns her a few angry rumbles but Lydia ignores them and continues, “Stiles and I have been investigating all the attempted sacrifices around town.”

Chris nods. “I have as well.” He turns to the pack. “We have a darach on our hands, making sacrifices to gain more power – no doubt to take you out.”

Scowl deepening, Derek asks, “And what sort of sacrifices are being made, or attempted?”

“Virgins, warriors, philosophers, healers, and guardians; that’s what she needs, three of each.”

“But I’ve been finding all of them before the sacrifices could be completed,” Lydia adds, “so the darach has decided to make the ultimate sacrifice.”

“Who?” Scott demands, voice turning into a growl as he struggles against the shift, knowing the answer.

Lydia’s voice wavers as she answers. “Stiles.”

The pack stares, eyes widening in horror, Scott being the only one that utters a sound, making a strangled whine that sounds like Stiles’ name. Allison takes ahold of his face in both hands, forcing him to hold her gaze as he shakes with anger and the shift.

The shocked silence is broken by a distressed, furious growl, drawing everyone’s eyes to Derek, also wolfed out. “Where is he,” he grits through his fangs, glaring at Chris and Lydia, “where have they taken him.”

“I believe I can help you with that,” Peter says from within the shadows, stepping out to join them, smirk firmly in place. “It’s somewhere we’ve both been before, Derek; I’m sure you’ll recall.”

“ _Where!_ ”

The smirk widens. “Our little root cellar.”

 

* * *

 

The Camaro skids to a halt front of the emergency room entrance, Derek not even bothering with the keys or ignition as he pulls Stiles out of the backseat and rushes through the doors yelling for help, the pack immediately behind. Melissa runs up with a gurney, shouting orders as they wheel him away, holding up an arm as the pack tries to follow, Derek just barely holding back a snarl.

“You need to stay out here and wait for the Sheriff,” she says in a strict tone before going in the doorway they took Stiles through.

Derek paces the waiting room floor, forcing himself to breathe and not shift, as the rest of the pack sit close together in the chairs, watching him and fidgeting as they wait for news. The Sheriff comes barreling in a couple minutes later, heading straight for Derek and grabbing him by the lapels of his leather jacket, slamming him into the nearest wall.

“This is your fault,” he rumbles, slamming him back again for good measure, Derek letting him.

Scott scrambles up and out of his seat, followed closely by Lydia and Isaac. “No, Mr. Stilinski, it wasn’t Derek!”

“It’s true,” Lydia rushes out. “If it’s anyone’s fault it’s Peter’s; he’s the one that bit Scott. You know that.”

Breathing out slowly as Scott grabs him by the shoulders and Isaac unlatches the Sheriff’s hands from his alpha, John backs up, shaking. “I’m sorry, son, I -”

“It’s okay, sir,” Derek interrupts, “I understand.” He runs his hands back through his hair, clutching at the strands. “I wish I had – I should have known sooner, the darach was in my territory, and the pack is my responsibility, which includes the humans.”

John shakes him head. “You know Stiles; he would’ve gotten in trouble somehow even if you had known.” That earns weak, shaky laughter from the pack as they all settle back down to continue waiting for news from Melissa.

 

* * *

 

 

They get Stiles bandaged, stop the bleeding, and get him hooked up to blood bags, but it’s all pretty touch and go; he lost liters of blood and he has yet to wake up, the heart monitor showing a weak, unsteady pulse.

 

* * *

 

Chris Argent comes in early the next morning to let them know he found the darach and took care of her. The news doesn’t really cheer any of them up.

 

* * *

 

After the first day the pack starts taking turns going home to shower, eat, and get rest, but someone always stays with him, visiting-hour rules be damned. Scott and Derek are the hardest ones to convince to go home and rest.

* * *

 

When a week goes by, and a blood transfusion has been done, and various tests performed, Stiles’ condition does not improve, nor does he wake up. The doctors declare he’s in a coma but they’re not quite sure why. Derek drags in Deaton on the chance that something magical may be preventing Stiles from recovering but he says he’ll have to do more research to know for sure and leaves with that.

* * *

 

Two weeks in John starts getting desperate.

“Please,” he begs Derek outside Stiles’ room, “just give him the bite.”

Running a hand through his hair and down his face – he’s been doing that a lot lately – Derek takes a deep breath. “I’ve considered it,” he admits, meeting the Sheriff’s eyes, “but I don’t know if it’ll help.”

John squeezes his eyes shut, his shoulders drooping. “Could you still try?”

Gritting his teeth, Derek starts to shake his head. “He doesn’t want it.” That gets John to open his eyes. “He never told anyone, but I know Peter had to have offered after he attacked Lydia.”

Nodding as he processes, John curls in his lips and pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes once again closed. He blows out a breath and asks quietly, “Would you please just – consider it.”

 

* * *

 

A month in Stiles’ condition slowly starts to worsen and Deaton still has no explanation. The pack begs Derek to give him the bite, insist that he can’t get any worse for it. When Deaton says nothing against it Derek gives in, despite the fact that he _knows_ Stiles doesn’t want it because somewhere along the road they stopped hating each other, because Derek is selfish and he doesn’t want to lose any of the few people he has in his life who care even a little bit.

 

* * *

 

When Stiles finally wakes up everything is sharper; he can hears everyone in the hospital, can smell everyone, and he knows, he just knows.

He sits up quickly, not getting even a little bit dizzy from the sudden movements after a month of none, tears out the IV and oxygen tube, grabs the clean set of clothes sitting conveniently in the chair next to his bed, and changes into them before rushing – at human speed. He’s pissed off, not stupid – down to the cafeteria where he knows Scott and Derek are getting him food. As soon as he sees them both, sees Scott’s face light up and Derek’s turn impossibly grimmer, he walks up and clocks them both to the shock of the whole room before storming outside to his father’s cruiser just as he’s getting out.

“Stiles,” his dad says with a mixture of relief, hope, and trepidation.

“Not one word, dad,” he growls then continues out of the parking lot, having made sure his dad was okay. Once he reaches relative cover he shifts and starts running as fast and hard as he can, not paying particular attention to where he’s going, and not stopping until he runs out of breath.


	2. Chapter 2

**If anyone tries to climb in my window tonight, or anytime in the near future, I will rip their throat out with my teeth.**

The pack sighs at the group text Stiles sends as soon as he gets home. They all understand that he’s angry – he has every right to be, considering they went against his wishes by giving him the bite – but none of them think it wise to leave him alone so soon after he’s been turned.

Scott’s the first to get up and grab his jacket, the others watching him.

“Where are you going?” Erica asks, demands really.

He shrugs on his jacket and heads toward the door of Derek’s loft, where they all convened after Stiles left the hospital. “I’m headed to Stiles’ house.”

“That’s really not a good idea,” Isaac points out. “You know he was serious.”

Nodding, Scott opens the door and steps out. “I know.”

Derek watches him leave, considering following after.

 

* * *

 

Stiles lies on his bed, window shut and locked, while he experiments by trying to shift only one thing at a time. It’s going surprisingly well considering he’s only been a werewolf about four hours max he’d say.

Not long after he sends out the mass text message Stiles hears someone creeping up to the house and jumping up onto the roof near his window; even if he didn’t have the super-smell to back him up Stiles would still know without a doubt who’s coming to visit despite his threat.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here, Scott?” Stiles asks at a conversational volume, voice turning into a slight growl as he tries out just shifting his fangs.

Outside the window now Scott replies, “You know why I’m here, man. C’mon, let me in.”

Smelling the desperation and hearing the slight hitch of fear in his heart, Stiles sits up on the bed to face Scott. “If you don’t leave in the next ten seconds I will open that window and follow through with the ripping out of your throat I mentioned in the text.”

Swallowing thickly, Scott nods and holds his hands up in defeat. “Okay, I get it, you’re pissed -”

“‘Pissed’?” Stiles interrupts with a bitter laugh. “That’s not even the half of it, Scott!” He surges up and starts pacing his room. “You knew this wasn’t something I wanted. _All of you knew,_ yet you still let Derek give me the bite!”

“Yeah, we did!” Scott exclaims, fighting back despite the fact he knows Stiles could really snap any second now. “And we’d do it again because you were _dying,_ Stiles, and nobody knew why!

“So, yes, we gave you the bite because none of us wanted to lose you.”

Fangs clenched, Stiles comes to a halt in front of the window and stalks up to it. “So. What,” he snarls.

Deflating, Scott lowers his head in defeat. “Okay, I get it; you don’t want to listen to any excuses. I – We’ll leave you alone just – just think about what I said, okay man? And once you’re ready we’ll be here.” With that and a final tear-filled look at Stiles he jumps down and runs back the way he came.

Sitting back down on his bed with a huff, Stiles clenches his fists. Scott was telling the truth, and he doesn’t know whether that makes him feel better or worse about this whole situation.

 

* * *

 

Derek knows he shouldn’t, knows Scott got off easy because he wasn’t the one that did the turning, but Derek… He has to know. He has to see with his own eyes that Stiles is okay, that it really took. (Because a few seconds in the hospital cafeteria getting punched doesn’t count.) So he quietly makes his way into the Stilinskis’ yard and up the side of the house to the roof near Stiles’ window. When he gets there he’s met with a glowering, wolfed out Stiles.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you can’t listen to a simple order either,” Stiles grinds out when all Derek does is scowl back – which is a bit hypocritical.

Ignoring the jibe, Derek says, “I just wanted to make sure -”

“That I what?” Stiles interrupts. Apparently when he’s angry Stiles likes to interrupt people. Good to know. “That I’m not gonna attack my dad or anything? Relax, big guy, you turned me just after the full moon, so we’re good.”

Derek growls. “No, that’s not – I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Stiles starts to open his mouth again, and Derek rushes to cut him off. “I know you’re not ‘okay’ because we – _I_ gave you the bite when I knew you didn’t want it, knew it was the last thing you wanted, but I just… I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to do something stupid.”

Rolling his eyes with a huff, Stiles turns around and heads back to his bed. “Well thanks for the vote of confidence, Derek,” he sneers, “but I’m pretty sure if I were going to do something stupid tonight you would be the first to know.”

He manages to hold back a chuckle but not a smirk, making Stiles glare harder. “I’m sure.”

They sit, Stiles on his bed and Derek just outside the locked window, just staring at each other. Derek feels like there’s more he should say, but he doesn’t know what exactly _to_ say.

They both hear the Sheriff come home, enter the house, and walk up the stairs, but they just continue staring at each other, neither willing to be the first to look away.

When John reaches Stiles’ door he knocks tentatively, asking quietly if he can come in. Stiles answers in the affirmative and just keeps up the staring contest even as his dad walks in and looks between Derek and his son, eyebrows raised in question. In an attempt to intimidate Derek flashes his eyes red, but all Stiles does is flash his eyes gold, making Derek scowl and Stiles grin smugly – which is the exact moment he realizes Stiles is going to be even more of a handful than the rest of his betas, an accomplishment in and of itself.

With a huff and a roll of his eyes Derek looks away first, Stiles crowing and pumping his fist in triumph. Derek shakes his head and says, “You know where to find me when you’re ready,” then jumps down before Stiles can say anything else.

As he’s leaving he hears John ask what he was doing there and Stiles replies that he was just being his normal, stalker-y self. Derek snorts out a laugh, know Stiles hears when he barks out a laugh in surprise.

 

* * *

 

“So kid,” John says as he sits down in Stiles’ desk chair, “you ready to talk to me?” Stiles shrugs. “C’mon Stiles, you know I wouldn’t have asked Derek to -”

“ _You_ asked him to make me into _this_?” He shifts completely to prove his point. “Did you honestly think I would be okay with this?”

John shakes his head. “I knew you would be angry with all of us, me and Derek especially.” He inches the chair closer to the bed so he’s directly in front of Stiles. “But son, I couldn’t – I can’t lose you too.

“The doctors had no idea what was wrong, why you weren’t waking up, and you were starting to deteriorate with no explanation and I couldn’t do it.

“So yes, I asked Derek to make you into a werewolf if it would save you. He didn’t even want to do it at first, I practically had to beg him to even consider it, but as soon as he saw you were starting to get worse he knew, and he gave you the bite that night before I even had to ask him again.”

Stiles sits there staring at him, clearly using his new hyperaware senses to judge whether he was being truthful or not, and that was something he was going to have to get used to, but it was worth it, so worth it.

“None of us wanted to lose you, Stiles,” John continues quietly when Stiles doesn’t say anything. “We were all so worried about you. The pack never left you alone, always making sure someone was with you, and we had to fight Scott and Derek to make sure they went home to rest and eat.”

That certainly gets a response.

“Wait, Derek wouldn’t leave?” Stiles asks, shifting back slightly, eyebrows furrowed as he snorts in disbelief. “I’m sorry, but we must be talking about a different guy here; Derek Hale doesn’t worry like that over anyone, not even himself.”

John smiles and reaches out to ruffle Stiles’ hair – and Stiles actually lets him. “Oh Stiles, you really have no clue, do you?”

 

* * *

 

When he gets back to his loft Derek finds the rest of the pack still there.

“What’re you still doing here?” he asks as he tosses his leather jacket onto his bed. “Shouldn’t you all be at home by now? It’s late.”

Lydia ignores him, simply placing her hands on her hips. “Well I see he didn’t rip your throat out either.”

“Stilinski really needs to work on following through with his threats,” Jackson snorts.

“Like you’re any better,” Allison counters, and then turns to Derek. “How is he?”

Leaning back against the table, Derek crosses his arms. “He’s fine. Seriously pissed off about getting the bite, but fine. He can even control the shift pretty well already.”

Erica whistles. “I knew that kid would make a good wolf.”

“So is he gonna join the pack?” Isaac asks.

“When he’s ready,” Derek shrugs.

Scott sighs. “That’ll take awhile.”

“I think you’ll be surprised at how quickly he’ll come around.”

 

* * *

 

It actually only takes Stiles about a week. Maybe two. Well, he’s still über pissed, but he’s big enough to admit that maybe it would be a good idea to join the pack and get trained and all that. ‘Cause, while he’s able to shift just his eyes, fangs, or claws, the full moon will be here soon enough, and one of these days something or someone is going to seriously piss him off – more than he’s pissed off at Derek – and he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt someone, so yeah. Some training would be good. Plus it might be fun. Maybe.

Also, school has kinda sucked because he hasn’t really been talking to any of the pack because he feels like if he lets up on one person the rest will just cave in. Or something to that effect, he isn’t really sure anymore.

So on the third Sunday of the month, the night of the new moon, Stiles heads over to Derek’s loft unannounced – because, hey, where would the fun be if he gave prior notice that he was finally ready to join the fun or whatever? Of course it would be better if Derek didn’t hear or smell him as soon as he gets into the building, but he’ll take what he can get.

The door to the loft rolls open before Stiles even has the chance to set off Derek’s warning buzzer and, even though he could tell from the smells, he’s still surprised it’s just Derek.

“What, no pack bonding time?” he asks as he just shoves his way in through the gap between Derek and the door.

Huffing, Derek closes the door before turning around to follow him back over to the table. “It’s Sunday night, they all have better things to do than hang around here.”

Stiles snorts. “Wow, that really boosts the self-esteem for both of us.”

Sigh. “What are you doing here, Stiles?”

He hoists himself up onto the table. “Pretty sure you already know the answer to that question.”

Arms crossed, Derek stops a few feet in front of him. “You sure you’re ready? Right now?”

“Would I be here if I weren’t?” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Sure, I’m still not pleased with you, but what’s a boy to do when the full moon’s in two weeks and he has no anchor and no training?”

“You do realize that Scott and Isaac are the only others that have anchors, right? And Isaac’s still learning. It could take you a long time to control the shift that well.”

“Well rumor has it that I’m pretty good at control already.”

“Who told you that?”

“I overheard Jackson being all whiny about the newbie getting grudging respect from you on his control while Jackson only gets anger and annoyance. Then Lydia scolded him. It was pretty hilarious.”

“All right, yes, you do have fairly good control for someone who’s just been turned a couple weeks ago,” Derek admits, teeth clenched slightly. “But you still need to learn how to control the shift when you’re angry.”

Stiles waves his hands in a ‘move along’ sort of gesture. “Yeah, yeah, that’s one of the main reasons why I'm here, so can we get to the lessons or whatever?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Why not tonight, why not now?”

The raised brows speak for Derek.

“C’mon, don’t I get private lessons or something?”

“Why would you get ‘private lessons’?”

“I don’t know, so I don’t embarrass myself in front of the others?” The eyebrows rise higher. “Wait, no, you’d take pleasure in that… So I don’t embarrass them by getting something down faster than they did? Wait, no, that’d be awesome… Forget private lessons, why can’t we just start now?”

“You have school in the morning.”

Stiles scowls. “Since when do you care if any of us go to school?”

Derek just does his creepy staring thing – which actually isn’t so creepy anymore, more endearing really – and where the hell did that come from?

He throws up his hands. “Ugh, fine, I’m going, you freaking spoilwolf.” He hops off the table and heads back over to the door. “I’ll see you first thing to-”

“No,” Derek interrupts, “after school.”

Spinning around, Stiles makes a face. “Are you sure you want me to go to school? I could get all riled up at lacrosse practice.”

“You’ve been fine for the past two weeks, I think you’ll survive one more day.”

“What if Harris really pisses me off?”

“Again, it’s one more day, you’ll be fine.”

“Fine, whatever, see you tomorrow.” And Stiles tries his best to slam the rolling door behind him. It doesn’t work out as well as he wants.

 

* * *

 

At school the next day Isaac sits next to Stiles at lunch. “So you’re finally gonna start training with us?”

Squinting his eyes to examine Isaac, Stiles asks, “I doubt Derek told you that so how do you -? Ohhh, you live at the loft, don’t you?”

He nods. “I could smell you’d been there.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs. “Tried to get him to start last night, but he insisted on waiting till after school today.”

“Well you haven’t had any problems since you’ve been back,” Isaac offers, “so I’m sure you’ll be good till later.”

“That’s what he said.”

And Stiles had been fine for the past couple weeks, and today things were going pretty well, but after lunch he, Isaac, Erica, Scott, Lydia, and Allison have physics with Harris, and of course that’s when things kinda go to shit.

He and Lydia are sitting at their lab table, finally talking again while they work on the day’s experiment, when Harris comes up and demands to know what they’re doing.

“Uhh, doing the experiment?” Stiles offers, just barely holding back from rolling his eyes.

“I don’t believe the experiment entails gossiping,” Harris states.

Frowning, Stiles clenches his slightly trembling hands. “Last time I checked high school chemistry doesn’t require complete silence; pretty sure I’m not gonna startle any of the compounds with the sound of my dulcet tones.”

Lydia takes ahold of his wrist in an attempt to calm him down as Harris gives him yet another completely uncalled for detention.

“Oh and Miss Martin can join you this afternoon,” Harris adds as he walks back over to his desk.

Getting another detention that he doesn’t deserve? Stiles can handle that. But giving one to Lydia, who’s never gotten into trouble with any sort of authority? Wrong move.

As his fists clench tighter, Stiles can feel his claws coming out and digging into his palms and his heart rate pick up, his teeth grinding together as his fangs come out too. He can hear Lydia and the others talking to him, trying to calm him down, but their voices are just coming through as muffled static as his blood starts to boil.

Right as he feels the rest of the shift starting to take effect, a pair of hands grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him out of the classroom and into the hall, Harris’ voice yelling after them. Looking up, Stiles sees Scott staring back at him, hands holding tight to his shoulders.

“Breathe, Stiles, just breathe.”

So he shuts his eyes and holds his breath for a few seconds before forcing it into a calm, steady pace, something he used to do when he had panic attacks after his mom died.  It actually helps too, his claws and fangs retracting and the anger dissipating.

Scott lets go of his shoulders. “Dude, how’d you do that?”

Opening his eyes back up Stiles sees Scott staring in shock and fascination, like he thought he was going to have to fight Stiles to get him to calm down or something – which, now that he thinks about it, Stiles kind of expected that’s how it was gonna go down too.

He shrugs a little helplessly. “I don’t know. I just did it.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

            After the incident with Harris, Stiles makes it through the rest of school and his detention, though the pack makes sure he’s never left alone just in case. By the time three thirty rolls around he’s more than ready to leave and start his werewolf training, anything to get away from Harris.

            He and Lydia drive out to the Hale house in the Jeep, going around and parking away from where Scott, Isaac, Boyd, and Erica are sparring in the open field next to the ramshackle structure. She gets out and heads over to the porch where Allison is sitting, and Stiles goes to follow, planning on looking inside for Derek, but as he starts walking over he hears a slight rustle in the trees behind, signaling someone’s not nearly stealthy enough approach, and from the smell he can tell it’s Jackson. (He doesn’t know how he can tell that, he just knows.)

            Just as Jackson gets within a few feet Stiles whips around and shoves his hand into Jackson’s chest, making him stumble back. Jackson growls and charges back in a little hotheaded – which is probably why Stiles is able to take down with just a few simple moves that he didn’t know he was aware of let alone capable of, despite the fact that Jackson’s wolfed out and Stiles isn’t.

            Stiles is glancing between his hands and Jackson, still on the ground, in amazement but, unlike pre-bite, he isn’t startled when Derek comes out of nowhere, without a sound, from behind him.

            “Good,” Derek says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Looks like it’s more than just control you’re naturally good at.”

            Eyebrows raised, Stiles looks over his shoulder. “That’s how you’re starting my training? By having Jackson jump out at me?”

            Look in place that clearly reads ‘you’re an idiot’, Derek removes his hand and backs up. “I need to know what all I have to teach you. According to the others you can anchor yourself fairly well when angry, though I’ll have to test that myself later, but right now I was thinking more physical training.” He keeps walking backward until he reaches the middle of the clearing in between the sparring pairs, then beckons Stiles forward.

            Taking a deep breath, Stiles starts forward only to be jumped from behind by Erica and the right by Isaac. He isn’t fast enough to counter both, ending up with Erica lodged to his back digging her claws in everywhere she can reach. He struggles to flip her up and over his head, finally wolfing out to dig his own claws in her hair and bicep, but as soon as he gets her off Isaac moves in, swiping at Stiles’ fleshy side and stomach. Just barely judging, Stiles throws a hard punch, hearing Isaac’s jaw crack, just in time to spin around and block Boyd’s attack. Except that’s when Jackson moves back in, kicking Stiles in the stomach to send him flying a few feet as he’s caught off guard.

 

* * *

 

            “Are you sure this is really fair,” Scott asks Derek as the other betas gang up on Stiles; “having four-on-one against Stiles when he was just turned a couple weeks ago?”

            He continues to watch, looking for things that’ll need improvement. “He needs to learn somehow.” He turns a fraction of an inch to meet Scott’s eyes for a second. “Wouldn’t you rather it be with those he trusts, who mean well and are also still learning?”

            Scott shrugs, then winces when a crack and pop, and subsequent yelp, rebound off the trees and rubble, signaling the break of Stiles’ arm and dislocation of his shoulder as Jackson pulls and twists the arm roughly behind his back. “I guess.”

            As they watch Stiles falls back, leaning all his weight on Jackson, who isn’t expecting such a move and ends up losing his footing. Stiles takes advantage of this, sweeping a leg around to trip him, going with the fall then rolling away and onto his feet into a defensive pose, growling quietly as Isaac, Erica, and Boyd circle him. They attack in turns, getting in occasional swipes, until Boyd and Erica move in together from either side, no doubt hoping to throw him off again with their quick double attack. It backfires when Stiles rolls out of their paths at the very last second, causing them to run into each other, while Stiles continues the roll into Isaac (who got distracted laughing at the other two), taking him down so he can sit on his lower back and pin Isaac’s arms and legs before he can make a move.

            Scott cheers and runs over as Stiles grins and laughs, Derek struggling to hide a smirk.

            “All right guys,” he calls, gaining all their attention, “time to take a break before you work on tracking.” He watches with a warm, proud feeling growing in his chest as Stiles gets up and helps Isaac, the other slapping his back and complain good-naturedly about how they had been expecting him to still be a klutz, to which Stiles objects in mock-seriousness, making the others while, especially as Jackson keeps grumbling.

            Peter comes up behind Derek, hands clasped behind his back. “Glad to see my instincts were right,” he muses quietly so only Derek can hear, smirk apparent in his voice; “Stiles makes a _very_ good werewolf.” He leans in closer. “Imagine what he’ll be able to do when he gets some actual training. Or if he every makes alpha.”

            Clenching his fists and starting to growl inaudibly, Derek hears Peter chuckle.

            “Don’t worry, I won’t touch a hair on your pet’s pretty little head. We are pack after all.” With that vaguely ominous statement he melts back into the shadows just as Derek’s growl grows in volume and threat.

            “What is it, what’s wrong?” Stiles asks from directly in front of him, having inched steadily closer when he noticed Peter. “What’d he say?”

            “Nothing,” Derek snaps before he can stop himself, drawing a scowl and a flash of gold eyes from Stiles. “Don’t you have tracking to practice?”

            Eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, Stiles lets it go, though Derek isn’t fooled into thinking he’ll drop it just like that. “Fine. Who’s tracking and who’s bait?”

* * *

 

            Bounding up into the trees silently, Stiles hangs his jacket from a high limb to throw off Scott and Boyd before he leaps down and lands with a roll. As he runs through the leaves and brush, zigzagging in the hopes of throwing off Allison as well, Stiles considers what Peter could have said to Derek. Maybe it was something about him? Maybe Peter was a little pissed because he had been the one to actually offer Stiles the bite and he had been turned down?

            …Nah, that can’t be it.

            He’s just thinking that maybe now isn’t the best time to be thinking about this when an arrow comes zipping from the west. Instinctively, Stiles catches it but others keep volleying after, one grazing his right calf as he changes course, heading toward the nearby creek so he can wash off the blood. Reaching it he splashes in, not worrying about the noise at this point, just hoping all the blood was washed off as the wound heals up and he keeps running through the creek and into where the trees start back up.

            The arrows have stopped so Stiles figures he’s lost Allison for the moment at least, but he quiets his movements again so he doesn’t draw in the others. After a few yards he comes across a small clearing with cellar doors and, looking, smelling, and listening, notices no one else around, so he figures it wouldn’t hurt to check out what a root cellar is doing in the middle of the woods.

 

* * *

 

            Derek follows the pack, just to see how they’re doing. When he smells Stiles and just finds his hoodie lying on the ground, ripped to shreds, he chuckles lightly. The good humor fades quickly though when he hears a distressed howl, one he just knows to be Stiles, coming from a direction he’d hoped he’d never have to go again.

 

* * *

 

            If he wasn’t a werewolf with freaky super-organs and shit Stiles knows he would be hyperventilating right now. As it is he’s feeling much worse than this afternoon; his claws are out and stabbing at his scalp as he clutches at his hair, his fangs are chewing into his lips, and he can’t stop howling – something he would find kinda awesome if he weren’t so busy freaking out at where he is right now.

 

* * *

 

            When Derek reaches the cellar – he’s the first one there, where the _hell_ are his betas? – it’s to find Stiles standing in front of the nematon, unable to look away as he pulls at his hair, thankfully not tearing it out.

            He approaches cautiously; making noise for once so Stiles knows he’s there and holding his hands open in front of him. “Stiles,” he says, trying to use a gentle tone as he moves to stand between the roots and the teen. “Stiles look at me.” When that generates no response he reverts back to the alpha tone. “Stiles!”

            Blinking and breathing hard, Stiles shifts his gaze to Derek, eyes moving rapidly, searching his face, as tears make their way down his face and the howls turn into a small, equally distressed whine.

            Derek moves closer, not stopping until he’s mere inches away, where he takes ahold of Stiles’ wrists, grip just short of too tight, to remove his hands from his hair. “Stiles breathe.”

* * *

             

Head shaking minutely, Stiles clenches his fists, claws now digging into his hands. “I can’t. That – that was nothing, back at the school. This is, this is where she, this is why I’m here, why I’m like this, and I don’t know what to do, I can’t, I can’t, I never wanted this, but it’s so addicting, and I like it, and I don’t know what to do with that, and I – I – I -”

            “Stiles!”

            He stutters to a halt, small whine creeping back in as he struggles to calm down, struggles against the wolf that’s itching to come out. When Derek doesn’t say anything else, just holds his gaze and tightens his hold on his wrists for a fraction of a second, Stiles fights back harder, taking a deep, stuttering breath and holding it in for several seconds before letting it out without a hitch. After a few minutes of that, of breathing in slowly and carefully the scent of Derek so close and near about surrounding him, his face changes back, claws and fangs retract, and he sags forward slightly, though his eyes still don’t leave Derek’s.

            Hands uncurling, Stiles whispers, “Thanks,” and swallows thickly.

            Without even a nod, Derek lets go of Stiles wrists and heads over to and up the stairs, Stiles following right on his heels. When he reaches the open air he tilts his head up into the wind, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

            Stiles stands far away from the cellar doors but not too far from Derek, fidgeting because that’s what his muscles are used to after about seventeen years, and waiting for Derek to say or do something, anything to help Stiles understand the emotions he can feel and smell rolling off Derek, but an explanation never comes of course. Instead Derek just drags a hand down his face then heads into the woods that lead back to the house, knowing Stiles will follow.

 

* * *

 

            As he expected, Stiles is following closely behind, but he’s doing so without a sound, which would be disturbing under normal circumstances, but is one so considering what just happened back there. So Derek decides he should probably say something.

            “Tomorrow you can tear that down or burn it or something,” he offers, voice rough and stilted, flinching slightly at the burning suggestion, even though it was his and it’s been seven fucking years. With his back turned he feels more than sees Stiles jerky nod.

            They’re just clearing the woods just outside the house when the rest of the pack comes scrambling over, rushing into Stiles’ personal space to nuzzle into him in an attempt at comfort. For a few minutes Stiles endures, Derek watching from the porch as the girls hug him and Scott and Isaac each clasp a shoulder, until he seems to need space and pushes them away.

            “I’m fine, guys,” he says, voice cracked and broken, “it was nothing. I think I’m gonna head home now, though.” He brushes aside all the protests about how he shouldn’t be driving right now, how someone should go with him, getting in the Jeep and driving away on autopilot.

            Once he’s gone, Lydia and Allison following a few minutes later in Allison’s car, Derek lays into the betas. “Where the hell were you? Stiles could have been hurt, he could have been in serious danger, and none of you were there.”

            “It’s fine, Derek, you were there,” Jackson drawls, rolling his eyes, though Derek hears the slight skip in his heart.

            “Yeah, I was, and there was nothing fine about that situation. Stiles is pack and when pack calls you come, no matter what. You got that?”

            They all mumble replies.

            “I _said,_ do. You. Understand.”

            “Yes,” they all say, each looking guiltier than the last, though none more so than Scott.

            Derek folds his arms across his chest and jerks his head. “Go. We’re done for the day.”

 

* * *

 

            It’s several hours filled with worried looks from his dad, visits from the whole pack except the Hales, and trying to get rid of the memories of that cellar before Derek comes in through the door.

            “Wow, using an actual door,” Stiles remarks from the bed where he’s staring up at the ceiling. “If I had known all I had to do was have a mental breakdown in front of you I would have done that ages ago.”

            Of course Derek doesn’t respond, just walk into the room the rest of the way, shuts the door, then stands at the foot of the bed.

            Stiles rolls his eyes as Derek just stares. “I’m fine, you didn’t need to make a house call. Go back to chasing rabbits in the woods.” (Never mind that Stiles basically just called himself a dog too.)

            “You -- did well.”

            “Uh, what?”

            “In training.”

            “Well that’s specific.”

            Derek glares in a way that says ‘shut up and let me talk, you idiot’. “Surprising considering it’s you.”

            “Gee, you know just how to make a girl feel special.” Eye roll. “Hell of a non-sequitur, by the way.”

            Derek huffs and sits down stiffly in the chair by the bed, not saying anything else because it’s Derek and he can’t just say what he means; he has to be all awkward and tense and grumpy and shit.

            “Whatever. Don’t know how I did any of it though.”

            “Don’t you?”

            Looking up from his lap, Stiles meets Derek’s inscrutable eyes, both of them searching the other. “I… maybe?” He swallows thickly as Derek keeps staring, something different about the look though Stiles can’t tell what.

            Nodding to himself like he’s found the answer he’s looking for, Derek says a simple “okay” and gets up, heading for his usual exit out the window.

            As Derek opens the window Stiles’ mouth speaks up without his permission. “Wait.”

            Stopping with the window half open, Derek doesn’t move an inch or breathe.

            “Stay. Please.” Stiles’ voice cracks on the second word but he can’t bring himself to care too much as Derek stiffens for a second before his body relaxes on a sigh.

            Closing the window again, Derek shrugs off his jacket and toes off his shoes before settling into the desk chair, figuring he may as well get comfortable for the night.

            With an eye roll Stiles motions him over to the bed. “Come on, you’re not sleeping in that thing, you’ll get a crick in your neck, dude.”

            Expression making it seem like a burden, Derek stands back up and heads over to the bed, rolling his own eyes as Stiles glances at his jeans with a raised brow. He stops and shucks the pants off, ignoring the slight hitch of breath and skip of heart as he climbs in bed alongside Stiles, careful to leave as much space as possible between them.

            “Thank you,” Stiles whispers again just before he drifts off, lying on his side facing Derek.

            Once he’s sure Stiles is in a deep sleep, Derek reaches over and brushes his hair off his face, Stiles nuzzling up into it. “No, thank you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, children! Sorry about the delay. Midterms, a twelve-page original short story, and computer problems for my beta got in the way. Though, at this point, I should probably warn y'all that I'm not the best at updating because, for whatever reason, when I get to a certain point in a fic, I start getting writer's block for it. So yeah, just - don't get your hopes up for regular updates. Otherwise, enjoy! :)

            In the middle of the night Stiles starts whimpering and twitching, waking Derek up. Sitting up quickly at the scent of fear he sees Stiles is still asleep so it must be a nightmare. When the whimpering intensifies, and Stiles’ claws come out and go to scratch at the opposite arms, Derek reaches over, one of his hands grabbing both of Stiles’ by the wrists and his other inserting itself in Stiles’ hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. The struggles continue so he drags Stiles into his lap, face tucked into his neck, hoping the familiar scent will calm him down at least a little bit.

            It seems to do the trick, for as soon as he breathes Derek’s scent in Stiles calms down, drawing in ragged breaths. Then, after a few moments of quiet, he alternates between nuzzling into Derek’s neck, rubbing his nose and cheek in and rumbling out a sound that is remarkably like a purr, and leaning his head back into Derek’s hand to get him to keep scratching at his scalp.

            Swallowing thickly as he realizes what Stiles is unconsciously doing, Derek sits with his back to the headboard, Stiles in his lap, waiting an appropriate amount of time before transferring him back to the mattress. When he tries to get up Stiles latches onto his shirt and reels him back in, tucking his face underneath Derek’s chin and nuzzling at the exposed skin. Holding back a sigh, Derek lets him, though he knows he’ll have many demands of why he smells so much like Stiles.

 

* * *

            Waking up with his obnoxious alarm, Stiles isn’t surprised to find Derek already gone, his side of the bed cold, making Stiles sigh as he sits up and stretches.

            Sadly, he also isn’t all that surprised to find Peter sitting in his desk chair, watching him like the creeper he is.

            “What’re you doing here?” Stiles yawns, scratching at his arms.

            Peter, of course, doesn’t answer the question. “I see my nephew’s been here recently. He stay here all night?” And there’s one of his creepy smiles staying he knows exactly what the answer to that question is. Great.

            _It’s too fucking early for this,_ Stiles thinks as he flops back with a groan. “What do you want, McCreepypants? I have to get ready for school.”

            “Want?” Peter chuckles. “Oh, I don’t want anything; I just came to see how my new favorite beta was doing after his little ordeal yesterday.”

            “Aw, I’m your favorite? How sweet,” Stiles gushes to the ceiling, hearing Peter get up and head back toward the open window. “I’m surprised though; I’d have thought you’d have ranked yourself number one because you just seem like the type of guy who’d have the whole self-worshipping thing down pat.”

            A growl turned into a dry chuckle comes from the direction of the window as Peter steps out casually. “Careful with that tongue, Stiles. It might get you into trouble one of these days.”

            “It already did,” he grumbles to himself after Peter leaves, getting up to dress for school.

 

* * *

 

            Throughout the day Stiles is once again never left alone for a minute, not even when he has to take a piss during history, which is just downright rude and annoying and way to voyeuristic for his tastes.

            “Do you mind?” he snaps at Erica as she comes in and leans against the wall next to the sinks.

            “No,” she says with a smirk, arms crossed beneath her breasts. She just stands there and watches, all casual and shit despite the fact she’s in the guy’s bathroom.

            Once he’s done and washing his hands, having taken a few minutes longer with an audience, she finally decides to say whatever’s on her mind.

            “Why do you smell like Derek?”

            Sputtering, Stiles splashes water on his front. “What? I don’t --” He cuts himself off and takes a moment to breathe, and yep there’s the scent that’s been following him around all day. “I, uh, I don’t know.”

            “Uh huh,” Erica hums, leaving the bathroom with a flip of her hair as he’s drying his hands.

            It gets worse at lunch when Isaac sits down across form him and asks, “Why did Derek smell like you when he got back to the loft this morning?”

            This time Stiles sputters while he’s taking a drink of soda, making some of it come out of his nose and the rest go down his windpipe. Scott thumps his back while Lydia and Jackson each raise a brow at him, Boyd looks bored, Erica smirks again, and Allison fights a smile.

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles manages to choke out, though he knows they can tell he’s lying at least partially. “I haven’t seen Derek since training yesterday.”

            And now they definitely know he’s lying because Lydia snorts delicately – and since when was it possible to snort delicately? Wait, it’s Lydia. – and Erica laughs outright.

            “I hate you guys,” he groans into his hands.

            Scott pats him on the back in camaraderie.

 

* * *

 

            No matter what he does Derek cannot get Stiles’ scent off. Well… He doesn’t particularly want to, so he doesn’t try too hard, but he’d rather avoid questions – especially from Stiles.

            Sighing, Derek texts Lydia, telling her to bring her self-reacting Molotov cocktails; he figures they’ll do just the trick in destroying the root cellar when Stiles comes for training later.

 

* * *

 

            After school Lydia drags Stiles back to the chemistry lab, requesting – well, demanding – his lock-picking expertise. Never one to question Lydia, Stiles does as he’s told, though he doesn’t stop asking questions till she has all the necessary ingredients gathered.

            “You’re making Molotovs? Why?”

            “So you can set ablaze to that root cellar,” she answers, not looking up from her work, “after you tear it down with your bare hands and claws.”

            “…Yeah, that sounds really satisfying actually. Can I set those tree roots on fire too?”

            “I don’t know if that would be wise considering it’s a nemeton.”

            “Whoa, really?” He thinks about it. “That makes sense actually.”

            “Exactly. The darach was trying to draw power from it by sacrificing you to it.”

            Stiles nods, chewing on his lip. Maybe they could use it to their advantage at some point or another, having a magical tree.

            He shook himself out of his reverie when Lydia nudges him, letting him know she was done and he should lock the cabinet back up.

 

* * *

 

            When the pack gets to the house Derek is just finishing up his workout so he heads out the door shirtless and sweaty, though not out of breath.

            “Hey,” Stiles says with a shaky smile as he gets out of the Jeep.

            He smells slightly anxious – whether because of his freak out yesterday or the fact he asked Derek to stay last night, Derek isn’t sure – and a tiny bit aroused, his heart beating faster when he sees Derek’s bare torso. As per usual, Derek tries to ignore it, but there’s something different about this time that won’t let him.

            With an air of judgment and condescension, Lydia marches up to him and carefully hands over the Molotovs. “Here, you carry them. If Stiles does he’s bound to shake them too much and set you both on fire.”

            “Hey!” Stiles protests as the others laugh and snort out their agreements. Huffing, he marches – much like Lydia just did, actually, which is scary – off into the woods in the direction of the cellar. “Well, come on!” he calls after Derek, not turning around.

            Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Derek follows, leaving instructions for the others to practice sparring while he and Stiles take care of this. Scott offers to come along, but Derek declines, saying he’s needed more with the other betas, implying that if Stiles wanted or needed Scott there he would’ve asked.

            Walking at a normal pace so as not to activate the chemicals, Derek can see Stiles much further ahead. By the time he arrives Stiles has already torn the doors off and into pieces. Figuring it’ll be good for him, Derek sits down a reasonable distance away and watches as Stiles tears the cellar apart bit by bit, tossing it all in a pile, growling as he goes.

            Before long it’s all down, Stiles somehow managing to get even the support beams without the dirt crumbling down on him.

            Once he’s sure Stiles is done Derek walks over to him and hands off one of the cocktails without a word. Both backing up, Stiles lobs the bottle at the great pile of wood, the glass shattering in an explosion of flames. The top layer crumbles to ashes fairly quickly and easily before the fire starts to dwindle around the middle, so Derek gives Stiles the other bottle, which lands with another satisfying crash.

            Glancing at Stiles, Derek sees a grim smirk on his face, eyes over-bright. He nudges his shoulder with his own, gaining his attention. Derek nods at the flames eating the wood hungrily, eyebrows raised. Stiles’ smirk turns into a soft smile and he nods in return, nudging Derek’s shoulder in thanks.

            It’s a nice, intimate moment, Derek thinks, despite the reason behind their little bonfire – and despite the fire period. Which is why he feels kind of bad for ending it.

            “We should --”

            “Get back to training, yeah,” Stiles interrupts quickly, shaking his head and flapping his arms.

            Derek narrows his eyes, getting the feeling he’s missed something since he could’ve sworn Stiles’ heart had just skipped a beat, but he can’t be sure because the fire is sort of messing with his sense of smell, so he can’t check that way.

            At least Stiles didn’t ask why Derek smells like him.

           

 


	5. Chapter 5

            After that the days start passing by normally. Now, though, Stiles takes part in all the trainings. More than that, he’s some sort of savant or prodigy or something.

            In sparring, a few weeks in, he can take on all the puppies at once and dodge about eighty percent of their attacks, even when they works together against him. When the bait he can elude everyone but Jackson, who’s the best scent tracker, and Allison and Derek, the best trackers period. As for doing the tracking himself, he can find everyone but Derek – though he did get damn close that one time.

            Alongside that stuff Stiles starts working on his senses, turning on and off the extra perception or simply ignoring things he sees or hears or smells that is boring and/or unimportant. Most of the time though he leaves his super sniffer on because it’s fun to figure out the day-to-day scents he encounters. He quickly realizes that he’d already memorized the scents of the entire pack (probably why he didn’t notice he smelled so much like Derek after the root cellar incident; he was already used to being around it all the time, since Derek liked to invade his bedroom), along with his dad’s, Scott’s mom’s, Danny’s (honestly, he was surprised Jackson hadn’t fessed up to his best friend about his wolfy ways) – even Chris Argent’s. (He and Allison have the same undertone: silver.) But what’s really fun is figuring out the scents of the different emotions.

            For each person an emotion smells slightly different, Stiles has found. Like, let’s say, embarrassment. It has a sharper, bitterer hint to it on Jackson than it does on everyone else. It’s still not too harder figuring them all out – all except one.

            There’s this one scent in particular that for the life of him he can’t pinpoint. He’s not even sure if it’s emotion, it just _feels_ like one, y’know? All he knows is that it’s always on Derek, only Derek, and the intensity changes. He’s tried asking the other betas, seeing if they might know, but they all give him this weird look that clearly says he’s either insane or stupid (probably because he’s asking about how the alpha smells). Which, hey, _rude_.

            But seriously, it’s been like two months since he grew fangs and claws and he’s no closer to figuring out this stupid mystery scent. It’s to the point where he’s almost ready to either ask Derek himself, which would be a suicide mission, or talk to Deaton about it. (There is abso-fucking-lutely no way he’s going to Peter about this, or anything really.) Then, in training one day the scent is really fucking strong for some reason, like seriously he almost chokes on it (because, y’know, even though it’s nowhere near disgusting there is still something as too much of a good smell, y’know? Strength in moderation and all that shit), making him mess up when sparring with Derek and dodge an obvious move too late, getting clawed in the face. (Which, hey, he doesn’t go after Derek’s ridiculous, perfect face, so why is Derek going after his? Again, rude much?)

            “Stiles, focus,” Derek growls, backing off for a moment.

            “I’m trying,” he hisses back through his fangs. Thanks to werewolf healing he no longer has ADHD, but growing up being unable to focus on one thing at a time has really helped in that he can use all of his super senses at once without getting overwhelmed like the others can. Sometimes, though, Stiles can still become a little bit distracted if there’s something really interesting that one of his senses has picked up. This seems to be one of those times.

            “Then try harder.” The alpha moves back in, not even shifted in his beta form yet.

            Baring his fangs at Derek and grinding his teeth, Stiles forces the scent to the back of his mind and decides it’s probably time he go talk to Deaton later.

            Later turns out to be way after practice. Derek got in more than a few hit before Stiles was really able to put all his energy and focus into the match, so as he’s driving home he’s still healing scratches on his face and torso, some broken ribs, and a pulled shoulder. His father isn’t too thrilled when he sees this at dinner, but Stiles waves it off.

            “Please, I got off easy,” he snorts into his pasta, and it’s true. “You should see Jackson and Erica.” The two started bickering over who fucking knows what, so Derek had made them pair together against Stiles, then Derek himself. Let’s just say it didn’t go too well for them either time.

            His dad narrows his eyes at him. “You’re sure you’re fine.” And there he goes using that interrogation voice again.

            That earns him an eye roll. “Yeah, dad,” Stiles says around a mouthful of cheese, meat sauce, and pasta, making the man grimace. “Wounds from an alpha just take a bit longer to heal.”

            Once that’s settled conversation goes back to normal: Stiles tries to get information on the on-going investigations and John dodges the probing questions by asking about how the rest of the pack is doing. It’s nice, a spot of normalcy when a lot of things have changed recently.

            Dinner eaten, table and dishes cleared, Stiles goes to head back out.

            “Where’re you off to?” his dad asks from the couch, some football game on the TV.

            “There’s just something I gotta ask Deaton,” Stiles answers, tossing his keys up and catching them mid-fall – definitely something he would have fumbled pre-bite. Actually, he had every time he’d tried…

            His dad’s brows furrow and he turns around to look at Stiles over the back of the couch. “Nothing wrong, is there? You said you were fine.”

            “Nah, just something that’s been buggin’ me. Nothin’ to worry about.” He grins crookedly.

            “Well all right, just don’t be out too late, you’ve --”

            “—got school in the morning, yeah yeah, I know.”

            Now his dad’s the one rolling his eyes. “Okay, smartass, just be careful.”

            “As if I’m ever anything but,” Stiles quips over his shoulder, grin turning into a smirk as he heads over to Roscoe.

           

* * *

 

            Arriving at the closed clinic, Stiles goes in through the backdoor, left unlocked for wolfy visitors at any time of day or night, and makes a beeline for the back office.

            Deaton looks up from some sort of paperwork. “Mister Stilinski, always a pleasure. What can I do for you tonight? No trouble I hope?”

            Squinting his eyes as he tries to decide whether that was sarcasm, Stiles flops in the chair across from the vet. “Nah, there’s just something that’s been bugging me so I thought I’d pass on the annoyance and bug you about it.” He smirks and gets a raised brow, saying to go ahead with the bugging. “So I’ve been learning the scent for different emotions and all that, right? And most of it’s, y’know, pretty easy, kinda just common sense crap. But there’s this one smell that I can’t for the life of me figure out and, dude, it is driving me crazy.” His arms flail in a demonstration of how annoying it’s been.

            The vet nods and folds his hands together on top of the desk. “I see. Can you describe the smell for me?”

            Sighing, Stiles gives it some thought, tapping his fingers on the armrests, more out of habit than need at this point. “Uhh, sorta smoky, y’know, like a campfire that’s just been put out? With a kinda oak-y but sweet hint to it? I don’t know it’s kinda hard to describe. It’s just there and it smells good, except when it’s really strong, and I can’t figure it out.”

            “Hmm…” The folded hands move up underneath his chin for a few moments before Deaton gets up and heads over to a bookshelf filled with obscure, valuable-looking texts. “And who did you say this scent was coming from?”

            He licks his lips, his tapping stuttering out of rhythm. “I, uh – How did you --?”

            Without turning around, head bent over as he searches for a certain page in the volume he pulled out, Deaton replies, “It’s reasonable to assume this scent is coming off a person, someone you spend a significant amount of time with and are close to no doubt. So who is it? Miss Martin, perhaps?”

            “Someone I’m – No, uh, it’s coming from Derek.”

            That makes the vet – emissary – whatever look up, though his expression doesn’t change. (Seriously, what is with this guy always being cool and blank as a cucumber?) “Interesting…”

            Stiles throws his arms up, mouth hanging open and eyebrows furrowed. “‘Interesting’? That’s it?”

            Putting the book back in its space, Deaton turns around. “I’ll have to do a little more digging, but I believe I know what’s happening here.”

            He waits a few moments; hands open in a gesture for more. “But you’re not gonna tell me, are you?”

            “Not till I know for certain, no.” The man smiles, moving around the desk to clap a firm hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “No need to worry, Mister Stilinski; it’s nothing bad, I promise.”

            “But it means _something_ , right? There’s a reason? I’m not just going crazy here?” He motions at his head to demonstrate insanity. “Because these past few weeks it’s sorta felt like I am, y’know more than usual, because _nobody else_ knows what the hell I was talking about when I asked them about the smell.”

            Deaton’s smile twitches, a small enough gesture that Stiles definitely wouldn’t have noticed when he was human. He glares at the man before getting up, knowing Deaton’s not gonna give anything away, not until he deems it necessary.

            When he’s at the door Stiles spins on his heel to face him again. “Hey, why did you think it was coming from Lydia? The scent? We’re not really that close. Neither are Derek and I, actually.” He’s given up on Lydia, and they are closer, but not close like him and Scott, or her and Allison. And a part of him would like to get closer to Derek, and not just because he’s the alpha or whatever, but it’s kinda hard when he’s an asshole most of the time.

            The expression twitches again but otherwise he doesn’t give anything away. Throwing his arms up a final time in exasperation, Stiles continues out the clinic, Deaton’s voice following after him.

            “I’ll get back to you in a few days, Mister Stilinski.”

 

* * *

 

            When he gets back home Derek is in his room, sitting in the chair by the bed that has been deemed his; it even smells like him.

            Stiles falls into his desk chair and spins it so he’s facing Derek. “What’s up, sourwolf? Ya miss me the past few hours?” He waggles his eyebrows.

            “Not even a little bit,” Derek grunts, getting up and walking over.

            “Sooo, you’re here why?” He swallows thickly, the smoky scent wafting into his nose and hitting the taste buds in the back of his throat, as Derek gets closer.

            Derek stops right in front of him, making him crane his neck slightly at the height difference since he’s sitting down. Reaching out, Derek grabs his chin (lighter than he would have expected) and tilts his head to the side.

            “Umm…” His heart is really starting to race and that, along with the scent and the proximity, has the potential to make him dizzy. Hands clenching around the arms of the desk chair, Stiles tongue darts out to lick his lips, his eyes watching Derek study – something.

            Dropping his chin, apparently satisfied with what he sees, Derek pushes Stiles so he’s sitting up straight then lifts his shirt, fingers probing.

            “There any particular reason you decided to feel me up or were you just feeling especially creepy this evening?”

            Still not saying anything (of fucking course), Derek draws the shirt back down and spins Stiles’ chair, shoves him forward slightly, then lifts one of Stiles’ arms, feeling around the muscles of his upper arm and shoulder – the one he injured earlier.

            “Are you – making sure I healed from practice?” Stiles asks as Derek finishes and turns the chair back around to face him. “I’m fine dude, you know I can handle it.” Forcing himself to calm down, he lets go of the chair and stands up, bringing them close together, chests touching and noses centimeters apart.

            _Aaand that was a bad idea, now the smell’s even stronger,_ Stiles thinks, swallowing again and clenching his fists as his hands itch to reach out and touch, wander, explore. _Down, boys._

            Searching Derek’s eyes, Stiles sees the pupils dilate slightly and hears Derek’s heart skip a beat, making Stiles tilt his head. _What…_

            “What --” he starts to say before Derek lurches forward, runs his nose up Stiles’ throat, snuffling and breathing out, then turns and jumps out the window.

            “What the _fuck_ just happened?” he asks the empty room, running a hand through his hair, neck tingling where Derek ran his nose along it.

 

* * *

 

            Running back to the loft, Derek growls at himself, shifting and going down on all fours to push himself faster.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... What ever could be going on? Y'all have any theories you'd like to share?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, I am so very sorry for that little hiatus, guys! But both my beta and I had big papers then finals. And I also had a twelve-page short story that I had to overhaul and ugh. Then, of course, we had finally stuff with the holidays.
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this chapter; you're gonna get a lot of information again. But, y'know, gotta keep the story goin', right? Right!

            By the end of the week Deaton calls Stiles and asks him and Derek to come to the clinic. So on Friday, a day they usually have off from training to have pack movie night at a different member’s house, Stiles heads straight to the loft. When he gets to the sliding door it’s already open and Derek is standing in the entrance, arms crossed and scowl in place.

            Hands stuffed in his pockets, Stiles rocks on his heels. “So I know we’re all meeting up at my house later for movies and puppy piles but, uh, Deaton said there was something he wanted to talk to us about, so I figured we could go now, get it over with.”

            Brow raised, Derek doesn’t budge.

            Stiles rolls his eyes with a huff. “Dude, definitely sounded like it could be importante, but you don’t wanna know? Fine. I’ll just head over there by myself. And no matter how major it is, no matter how much you beg, I’m not telling because you had your chance, buddy.” He turns on the ball of his foot with a flourish (thank whoever’s out there for werewolf reflexes that let him accomplish that without falling on his face) and starts marching back outside.

            Just as he figured, though, Derek overtakes him in seconds and heads straight to the Camaro without a word, no doubt expecting him to climb in the passenger seat. Well tough shit because he is not leaving Roscoe without supervision. That and he’s not sure he’ll want to endure a car ride with Derek after they talk to Deaton about whatever the hell’s going on.

            As he’s opening the driver’s side door Stiles hears a long suffering sigh before light footsteps come closer and Derek climbs in the other side. Huh, that’s – what?

            Shaking off the weirdness of Derek getting in a car that is not his precious Camaro, as a passenger no less, when not a fugitive or dying of wolfsbane poisoning, Stiles starts up the Jeep and heads toward the clinic.

* * *

 

            The ride is short and uneventful, though of course Stiles can’t shut up, filling the silence with nervous chatter.

            “You know what Deaton wants? ‘Cause I sure don’t, no siree. Nope, nada, zip.” The kid still can’t lie for shit.

            Derek has a pretty solid idea of what it is, but it’s a little surprising that Stiles noticed anything; Derek barely did and he’s a born wolf. Then again this is Stiles. He’s always doing things he’s not supposed to and that’s been especially true since Derek gave him the bite.

            Anyhow, Derek has a pretty good idea what Deaton wants to talk to them about. He can only hope Stiles won’t be entirely opposed to the idea (which is far too likely).

            Who’s he kidding? Of course Stiles won’t be okay with it. Derek can’t blame him.

* * *

 

            When they reach the clinic Stiles turns off the ignition and sits for a minute, hands gripping the steering wheel as he gathers himself for whatever info Deaton has for them.

            “Stiles?” Derek says, obviously hearing his racing heart.

            Swallowing, Stiles looks over at Derek, one foot out of the door and expression unreadable as ever, though his heart rate does sound a little faster than normal as well. Stiles takes comfort in that, finishes steeling himself, then climbs out of the Jeep.

            Inside Deaton is waiting for them in an examination room, book open and turned toward them on the table. “Mister Stilinski, it’s nice to see you again. And Derek.” He nods at the two wolves as they stop across from him.

            Grimacing, Stiles starts drumming his fingers on the edge of the table, waiting for the doc to start. After a few moments Derek’s hand shoots out and slams on top of his, so he starts tapping his foot, drawing a glare.

            “If you don’t stop fidgeting and tell me what’s going on –“

            “You’ll what?” Stiles interrupts, mocking, free hand flitting through the air to motion at his neck. “Rip my throat out – with your teeth?”

            Huffing, Derek grits his teeth. “Why do you always go back to that? I said it once.”

            “Yeah, well, it tends to stick in a guy’s mind when someone threatens to eat their neck in a non-sexy way – or in a sexy way actually – especially when the guy giving said threat was, like, 99.99 percent serious.”

            Eye roll. “I would never rip out your throat with my teeth.”

            “Ah ha!” Stiles points a finger in Derek’s face. “But you would rip it out other ways. So how’d it be, claws? Or would you make one of the pups do it?”

            “You really need to stop calling them that,” Derek grumbles.

            “Why? They don’t mind.”

            “You are aware that you’re one of the ‘pups’ now, right?”

            He shrugs. “Eh, ‘s okay, I don’t mind either.”

            “Gentlemen,” Deaton interrupts before they can go off on another tangent, this weird twinkle in his eye as he looks between them, “can we get back to why I called you here?”

            “Right, yes, of course,” Stiles says, snatching back his hand from where Derek still had pinned. “Proceed.”

            Derek crosses his arms and nods his head, turning back to the vet.

            “All right, earlier this week Mister Stilinski approached me with a question about a scent that he has been catching for the past few weeks.”

            Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Derek glaring at him. “What?” Stiles asks, crossing his own arms. “Not like you’d give me a straight answer anyway since the scent’s coming from you.”

            “What.” And of course it’s not even a question.

            Wait hold up! Did Derek’s heart just skip?

            Turning to face the older man, Stiles meets Derek’s glare with one of his own. He searches his eyes, pale green right now, and listens carefully for that skip again. It doesn’t come. So with a pang of disappointment he’s going to ignore, Stiles turns back to Deaton.

            But the vet is looking at Derek too. “Derek,” he smiles when the alpha turns the scowl on him, “have you by any chance noticed a new scent coming off of Mister Stilinski? One that isn’t strictly due to the turn?”

            There’s the skip again! What the hell?

            Derek’s jaw clenches but he otherwise doesn’t answer.

            “You – you smell it too! Or something like it.” He steps closer, fists clenched. “What else have you noticed that you didn’t tell me about?”

            Teeth gritted and eyes staring forward, Derek growls, “It wasn’t important.”

            “‘Wasn’t important’?” Stiles mocks. “Who are you to decide what is and isn’t important for me to know!”

            “Gentlemen!” Deaton interrupts again, voice raised and firm for the first time, like, ever. He waits for Derek and Stiles to quit growling at each other before he continues. “I’ve done some digging, looked into why new scents may be found only by the two of you, along with scent marking –“

            “Scent marking? There hasn’t been any –“ Stiles cuts himself as he remembers the night Derek stayed over and the next day when they smelled like each other. “Shit.”

            “—and all that I found,” the vet continues as if uninterrupted, “indicates that you two have begun to form a mate bond.”

            At the same time Stiles feels his heart skip he hears Derek’s do the same. Shaking his head, he tries to ignore what that could mean.

            “A mate bond? What the hell is that?” He hears Derek snort, making him roll his eyes. “I mean I get the gist, the name makes it pretty clear, but how the fuck did we,” he motions between them, “‘form’ one?”

            A gesture indicates the book in front of them, so Stiles leans forward to look at it. The page it’s open to shows a drawing of two wolves, one clearly the alpha with its larger form and red eyes, a sort of string linking them. As Stiles reads the Latin, Deaton gives a summary.

            “A mate bond can form between any two wolves, or on a rare occasions between a wolf a human.” When Stiles looks up Deaton’s eyes are on him. “I think in your case the bond started before you were turned and continued to grow after.”

            “But – how?” He nods to the book, eyebrows creased in confusion. “This says there has to be some sort of base to the relationship beforehand, something for the bond to grow from.” A choked off laugh forces its way out of his throat before he can swallow it down. “We are nowhere near close enough for a mate bond to form.” Sure Derek can smell the sour bitterness and resigned acceptance, Stiles keeps his head turned down, eyes focused on anything but the book in front of him.

            But, weirdly enough, in his peripheral vision he sees Derek flinch, slight enough that he almost thinks he imagines it. Unable to help himself, he looks up and, if he were anyone else, Stiles would think Derek has his usual scowling mask on. The past few months, though, Stiles has learned to recognize every nuance of Derek’s actions and that face right there shows… regret, sadness. And it’s backed up by the emotions Stiles can smell and feel.

            But – what does that even mean?

            As Stiles searches Derek’s face, mouth gaping open and heart rate starting to pick up, the alpha avoids his eyes, teeth grinding and fingers flexing. Across the table, Deaton answers Stiles’ question.

            “A mate bond can only be formed between two willing parties.” He raises a hand before Stiles can say anything. “It’s not always conscious; as long as the kernel is there, it’s possible. And if one is an alpha, the urge to mate is stronger, raising the likelihood.”

            What he’s hearing and smelling and feeling and seeing, it’s all pointing to the same conclusion, but it just can’t – he can’t get his hopes up. Because he knows, even if Deaton’s right and the feelings are mutual, Derek may not have been aware of his own until just now. And if he was he sure as hell doesn’t show any indication so that means he either a. doesn’t want those feelings in the first place so he’s ignoring them, b. thinks Stiles is too young, or c. doesn’t think he deserves a relationship, to be happy. Really, any combination of the three is equally likely, though Stiles is willing to bank on the third option. And he doesn’t know yet what he can do with that, how he can ever prove Derek wrong, because he is one stubborn, masochistic dick. And apparently that does something for Stiles. Who knows why?

            No, that’s a lie. Contrary to apparently popular belief, Stiles isn’t stupid. He’s noticed the similarities between Lydia and Derek. And no matter how much he loves Scott, no matter how much of a brother he is, Scott will never understand the pain of losing a loved one, especially at a fairly young age. He’ll never understand the crippling guilt and sadness that come with it. That, that’s something Stiles and Derek have in common. And Derek, he can actually be nice, like how he apparently never left the hospital before he gave Stiles the bite. Or how he was the first one to reach Stiles when he found the root cellar. Or how he stayed that night when Stiles asked him to in a moment of weakness. Or how he’s the one that suggest destroying that damn cellar, and he stayed with Stiles while he did it himself.

            So, really, he does know why he’s fallen for Derek, and no matter how much he tries to fight it, he keeps falling. He just – he doesn’t know how or why Derek’s apparently fallen for him. ‘Cause, well, as awesome as he is, it’s never happened before, someone having feeling for him, let alone returning feelings, so it’s kind of hard to swallow.

            But clearly Derek doesn’t want to do anything with it, so looks like he’ll never know.

            “What, uh, what happens if we don’t do anything?” Stiles asks, fiddling the hem of his plaid overshirt.

            Deaton hums in consideration. “It could either continue as it has, growing gradually, or it could dissolve.”

            Staring down at his hands as they twist his shirt between his fingers, Stiles asks, heart pounding, “And what if, y’know, we wanted to, uh, complete the bond? Would there be any, y’know, advantages?” His eyes dart over to Derek without his permission, and he forces them to focus back down. “And how, uh, how would we do about doing it, hypothetically?”

            “Well –“

            A fist slams down on the table, leaving a large dent in its shape. Stiles startles, arms flailing as he turns to stare at Derek, whose heart is racing and smells panicked – which, what?

            “NO,” he growls, alpha timbre rumbling through Stiles and making him shiver.

            “Why the hell not?” Stiles can’t help but demand before Derek turns red eyes on him and growls, making him flinch and bite back a whine.

            That makes Derek stop what he’s doing, eyes reverting back to human. He swallow and takes a deep breath, though Stiles can still hear his rapid heart beat and smell his panic. “We are not completing the bond,” he says, alpha authority gone but voice still more of a growl than anything.

            “Again, why not?” Stiles motions to the book. “I haven’t sat down and read it, but that seems to be of the opinion that a bond with an alpha can only be beneficial.”

            “Because I sa—“

            “I swear to god, Derek, if you say you so and because you’re the alpha I will kick your ass.”

            A rumble starts back up in the back of Derek’s throat, but Stiles fights off the shiver when Derek growls his name warningly.

            “No, I want a legitimate reason.” He steps into Derek’s space, not breaking his gaze even when red eyes flash. Are you that repulsed by the very idea of having me as a mate? Or are you just scared?”

            “Yes,” Derek bites out, and Stiles isn’t even sure which question he’s answering because he’s reading it as both a lie and the truth. “it’s a bad idea, it’s dangerous, and it will not be happening,” he continues with a note of finality, alpha back in his voice.

            “Fuck. You,” Stiles fumes. “I can make my own damn decisions.” He marches out of the clinic and to the Jeep.

* * *

 

            Derek blinks and shakes his head, staring after Stiles. It’s for the best – safer. No matter how much he wants – they both want to complete the bond. Because Stiles does want it; Derek can tell by his scent and heart beat and just because Stiles is so easy to read.

            By the time he makes it through the office to the back lot Stiles has already left – which Derek was expecting; he’s never seen Stiles so angry, at himself and Derek, or… hurt. It’s possible he was a bit too harsh in there and that Stiles may have read his emotions wrong. Or he read them exactly as they were – are.

            Either way movie night is going to be hell.

            Here’s to hoping the betas don’t notice anything’s wrong. Especially Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all totally saw that coming. I need to work on my suspense.
> 
> Speaking of suspense, I'm not quite sure when exactly the next chapter will be up as I haven't written it yet, but hopefully next week. Maybe. Either way, should be interesting, right?
> 
> In the meantime, y'all can listen to my Sterek fanmix (not necessarily for this fic, just a general Sterek mix) and my Stiles mix (for 3B so the songs are 'lose your mind' themed, my poor baby) over at my 8tracks, account name becreativeace. Or you can visit me on tumblr at facetiousberkalert.
> 
> (Huzzah for shameless plugging. Never thought I'd do that.)


	7. Chapter 7

            Stiles gets the house to himself for two hours. Two hours to calm down enough so that when the pack comes over for movie night they won’t be able to sense even the smallest bit of tension between him and their alpha.

            He should’ve known that was gonna be a lost cause.

            The pack arrive in, well, packs. First Scott, Allison, and Isaac – Stiles does _not_ want to know what is going on there because as hot as the concept is Scott is still his brother so it’s just weird. Then Lydia and Jackson, fighting about something or other; Jackson’s probably being an annoying prick again. Erica and Boyd come in a few minutes later, then Peter (ugh why is he here?) and Derek creep in just as Scott’s starting to dig in the cupboards for food.

            Turning his back on the Hales, Stiles hip checks his best friend. “Dude, I’m about to call in pizza.”

            “So?” Scott gets out around a mouthful of Cheetos.

            He rolls his eyes. “So we’re having curly fries with, duh.”

            Lydia scrunches her nose. “Pizza and curly fries? How are you not fat and riddled with acne?”

            Stiles clasps a hand to his chest. “A compliment from the fair maiden herself. I swoon.”

            This earns him an eye roll and a hair flick as Lydia heads back to the living room, probably to inspect their movie collection. “A maiden is a virgin and innocent, Stiles, and you should know by now that I am definitely neither.”

            Putting the fries in the already set oven, Stiles snickers. Man he loves being able to joke with her now and not be constantly trying to impress her.

            After he calls the pizza place and orders their usual he heads out to the living room where he hears the others arguing over the movie, Scott following after with his bag of Cheetos.

            In front of the shelves the girls are holding up their choice and glaring at Jackson, who’s holding up another movie. From one of the armchairs Peter is watching with a trademark smirk while Isaac looks back and forth like it’s an exciting battle of wills (when they all know who’s going to win here), Boyd looks bored, and Derek scowls. Unsurprisingly, Jackson tosses aside the movie he’s holding and collapses in the corner of the couch with a pout.

            “So,” Stiles crosses the room, going past his usual spot in the middle of the couch (read: avoiding Derek) to flop into the other armchair, “what movie are we watching?”

            Allison frowns and Lydia narrows her eyes at him, both clearly noticing him giving up the coveted middle seat that gives the perfect view of the TV and sound quality. Their eyes aren’t the only ones on him either; he can feel Derek’s as well. If he keeps that up Stiles isn’t going to be able to keep his cool for the whole night.

            A Blu-ray case is tossed into his lap. Erica smiles as she settles on the floor between Boyd’s legs. With a look Lydia gets Isaac to move off the couch and onto the floor in front of Jackson. Scott willingly sits on the floor on Erica’s other side, in front of Allison, who’s next to Derek.

            Looking down at the case, he has to swallow thickly. _The Princess Bride_? Really? Today wasn’t already bad enough so now he has to watch his mom’s favorite movie?

            Now that anger is warring with an aching sadness, both of which he shoves aside so he can smirk at the girls as he holds up the case. “Really? This movie is about one seriously helpless chick, the very picture of the damsel in distress. I would’ve thought you three would hate it.”

            Erica offers a shrug as she smirks back. “Maybe we’re not damsels in distress but there is one in the room with us,” she purrs, winking at him.

            His brow creases. “Me?” he snorts, pointing at himself. “I thought you guys would’ve realized by now that I am so far from a Buttercup.” He motions at the other betas. “I’ve kicked all your asses plenty of times. Y’know, the opposite of anything Buttercup does.”

            On the couch Derek snorts, drawing a glare from Stiles.

            “Something funny about what I just said?” Stiles grits through his teeth. He can feel Scott staring at him with the confused puppy face, no doubt reading his emotions.

            Derek raises his eyebrows. “Just that they think you can’t take care of yourself.”

            His arms flail out. “Yes, exactly! I can take care of myself,” he growls, claws and fangs itching to come out. “No one needs to fucking save or protect me from _anything_ because I. Can. Handle. It.”

            From the far corner of the couch Derek stares back at him, jaw and fists clenched. “Not everything, Stiles. You’re not invincible.”

            That makes him laugh because seriously? That is just fucking hilarious, Derek trying to lecture someone about invincibility. “Oh my god, really? I am well aware I’m not invincible, _Derek_ , but I think I can decide for myself what my limits are and fuck you for trying to decide that for me.”

            “Whoa, dude,” Scott interrupts from the floor. “That’s not what he was saying.”

            Before Stiles can think of an appropriate response – because Scott defending Derek is just fucking rich – the doorbell rings. “Saved by the bell,” he mutters as he gets up to go pay for the pizza. After the delivery guy leaves Stiles sets the five boxes on the coffee table then goes to check on the fries. As he’s pulling them out the oven he hears Scott walk in.

            “Hey dude, you okay?” Scott asks, leaning against the counter next to him.

            Floppy shrug. “Am I ever okay?” He smirks.

            That earns him a shove. “You know what I mean. What was that back there?”

            “Nothing, Scotty. Just our usual banter.” He can feel Scott’s skeptical look as he loads the curly fries onto a plate and grabs some napkins.

            “I know you’re lying, Stiles, so c’mon. What happened with you and Derek?” A hand grabs him by the shoulder and turns him around. “You almost wolfed out in there.” Shit, it’s the puppy eyes.

            Taking hold of Scott’s shoulders, Stiles looks him in the eyes. “Even if something did happen – I’m not saying anything did but hypothetically, if something did happen, why would I talk about it when the whole pack is here, including Grumpy Brows?”

            For a few moments Scott stares at him, then he nods. “Alright, well, how ‘bout we talk later, after everyone leaves?”

            Stiles raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms. “Really? So you’re not going home with Allison the night her dad’s away on business?”

            And here comes the confused, conflicted puppy face with wide eyes, furrowed brow, frown and all. “Crap.”

            A sigh escapes Stiles and he deflates. “It’s fine, dude, spend the night with your girlfriend.” He grabs the plate of fries and a soda from the fridge and goes back out to the living room before he has to see more of the puppy eyes.

            When he gets out there Erica, Jackson, and Isaac rush to make it look like they weren’t just listening in, stuffing their faces with pizza. (Wait, why is Jackson eavesdropping? Weird.) Of course Peter doesn’t bother, smirking like he just heard something useful, and Derek looks more uncomfortable than usual.

            Not in a sharing mood, Stiles takes the plate of fries with him and grabs his own box, then camps out in his chair and starts chowing down.

            “What’s the matter, Stilinski?” Jackson sneers. “Having cravings for your time of the month?” He whines when Lydia’s hand reaches out and smacks him on the back of the head. “Lydia!”

            “Don’t be unnecessarily cruel, Jackson,” she snipes before turning to Stiles with a crinkled nose. “But must you stuff your face like a starved man? It’s unattractive.”

            Around a mouthful of curly fries Stiles replies, “Whatever, these fries are delicious. And like I was attractive to begin with.” With his mouth so stuffed, though, all that comes out is a muffled jumble of words. Luckily for him, because if any of them had heard he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

            Even still Lydia gives him this look like she knows what he just said and she’s judging him hardcore – more than usual that is – and she doesn’t know why she permits him to be in her presence at all, let alone on a Friday night. Then she turns back to her pizza with a sniff.

            Rolling his eyes, Stiles looks over at the TV and sees no one has put the movie in yet. “What the hell, guys? None of you know how to put in a lousy movie?” He sets his food down, glaring and pointing at the others to make sure they don’t try to steal it, then gets up to put the disc in. All the while he’s grumbling under his breath, not caring that the others can hear. He’s also ignoring the emotions he can feel coming off Derek – frustration, annoyance, sadness, regret – because if anyone should be feeling any of that it’s not Derek.

            The movie in, Stiles starts it up then flops down and picks his food back up. During the movie he doesn’t joke around, talk along with his favorite quotes – not as much as he usually does. And he knows the others have all noticed, that they’re alternately watching him with raised brows and frowns, but he can’t bring himself to care too much; he just wants the night to be over so Derek (and Peter, definitely Peter) will leave.

            Fortunately _The Princess Bride_ is fairly short and the others want to spend the rest of their Friday night doing couple-y things or whatever. So as soon as it’s over and the boxes and napkins are cleared they start leaving in their pairs – or trio in Allison, Scott, and Isaac’s case.

            Peter is the last to leave with parting words and a creepier smirk than usual. “I hope whatever… disagreement you and my dear nephew are having is settled soon. I do hate seeing you two fight.” His hand runs along the back of Stiles’ shoulders as he heads out the door, that and the words making Stiles shudder.

            Shaking it off, Stiles shuts and locks the door, leaving the porch light on for when his dad gets off shift, then puts away the movie and shuts off the entertainment system before heading up to his room to do whatever ‘til he feels like sleeping. He surfs the interwebs, multiple tabs open out of habit, and listens to his music on shuffle. After a few hours he hears his dad’s patrol car coming up the street so he plugs in his headphones and loops them around his neck. This way he can still hear over the music and his surroundings but he’s not disturbing his dad’s light sleep.

            He half listens as his dad pulls in the drive, shuts off the car, comes inside and locks the door back up, shuts off the porch light and takes off his shoes, then walks up the staircase. On his way to his room he sticks his head in Stiles’ door.

            “Hey kiddo.” He smiles, eyes a bit bloodshot from a long shift that was probably paperwork-filled. “You have a good pack movie night?”

            Stiles grins widely, close-lipped. “Yeah dad, it was super fun!”

            His dad rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling. “Alright, well don’t stay up too late.”

            “‘Course,” Stiles smirks, waving him off. “‘Night, dad.”

            “Goodnight.”

            The house is pretty quiet after that, his dad getting in bed and falling asleep straight away, breath slowing and evening out.

            Turning back to his laptop, Stiles decides some killing is in order so he logs into _Dark Souls_ and settles in for the rest of the night.

* * *

 

            Around three in the morning, just when he’s starting to get bored (just because he doesn’t have ADHD anymore doesn’t mean he’s magically able to stick to one task at a time for an extended period) Stiles hears and smells someone creeping into the yard. He groans and headdesks because he knows exactly who’s jumping up to the roof and slipping in like an open window is an open invitation.

            “What do you want?” he mutters to his lap, not lifting his head. When there’s no response, of course, he rolls his head to the left and raises his eyebrows. “Well c’mon, speak. You can’t have come in the middle of the night to just brood at me. So what do you want?” He sits up and raises a finger when Derek starts to open his mouth. “And if it’s about this afternoon, unless it’s an apology and a ‘you’re right, Stiles’, I don’t want to hear it.”

            Derek scowls from beside the window, arms crossed. “You were right,” he forces out like it’s a bad taste in his mouth.

            “Now was that so hard?” Stiles simpers, getting up to stand in front of Derek so he can mock him from up close and personal.

            The scowl deepens and they have a staring contest – man, they have these a lot, don’t they? – until Derek gets this strange glint in his eyes and inches closer.

            That can’t be good, but Stiles stands his ground. “What’re you doing?” he demands when Derek doesn’t stop until their chests and hips are tightly pressed together, Derek’s right leg between his, and their noses are about an inch apart.

            Derek’s eyes, a liquid green with specks of blue and brown and a thin ring of red around the irises from this close, dart between his and down to his lips, which his breath is ghosting off of.

            “What—“ Stiles swallows, “—what are you doing?” His voice most certainly does not waver.

            It’s Derek’s turn to smirk, oh so smug as he no doubt hears Stiles’ heart picking up pace to match his own. “Oh I think you know.”

            With a lick to his lips, Stiles takes another moment to search Derek’s eyes before he slams forward those last couple inches to bring their lips together. Immediately, he delivers sharp nips and tries to force his tongue inside, one hand inserting itself in Derek’s hair and the other grabbing his ass to shove their groins even closer.

            Just when Derek’s starting to respond, taking hold of Stiles’ waist and hair, is when Stiles startles awake, heart racing and dick already throbbing even though the dream didn’t get to the good part.

            An arm flinging itself over his eyes, Stiles growls to himself. “Like that’d ever happen…” 

* * *

 

            While Friday is taken as a day of rest, Saturday sadly is not. So seven in the morning finds Stiles driving out to the Preserves for training. When he gets there only Derek’s Camaro is parked in the gravel drive even though he left late so he could avoid this.

            “Awesome,” he mutters, slamming shut his door and stomping over to the porch to fling himself down. He can hear Derek moving around inside, doing his pre-training pull-ups on the living room doorframe. Stiles rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone to text Scott, asking what the hell is taking them so long to get here.

            Soon, though, Derek finishes up and comes to stand against the front of the house just behind him. “Where are the others?”

            Stiles scowls down at his phone, no response. “How the hell should I know? I’m not their keeper.” He turns slightly to raise a brow at Derek. “Anyway, you’re the all-powerful, all-knowing alpha, shouldn’t _you_ know where the rest of your ‘subordinates’ are?”

            Derek rolls his eyes, though Stiles can tell from his scent that that question got a smad (sad/mad – clever, right?) response. “I’m not all-knowing or all-powerful, Stiles,” he sighs at a support beam.

            “Really?” Stiles hops up to lean against said support beam, arms flung out to the sides. “Could’ve fooled me yesterday, what with you just _knowing_ I wouldn’t be able to handle the responsibilities and powers that come with a full mate bond with an alpha.”

            “That’s not –“ Derek cuts himself off with a growl, pushing off the wall and closer to Stiles. “You’re reading into things again.”

            “Right,” Stiles snorts. “So I was just reading into things when you said you didn’t think it wasn’t important for me to know about the bond. So I was just reading into things when you decided for the both of us that a complete bond is ‘too dangerous’.” His hands curl into fists at his sides as he stares Derek down. “What does that even _mean_? How could it be anything but beneficial?

            “The book said I could get stronger, be like a second alpha like in real wolf packs.” He pushes off from the beam to step into Derek’s personal space, just like Derek has done to him so many times before. “Do you think I’d make a shitty mate, a shitty second alpha?” Lifting an arm, Stiles pokes him hard in the chest. “You gotta give me more here, dude. More than ‘because I’m the alpha’ or ‘because it’s too dangerous and because I said so’ because those are stupid ass, weak reasons and you know it.”

            Derek says nothing, though a growl steadily grows louder as Stiles goes on. His jaw clenches and ticks, his heart races, and his emotions swirl – Stiles can sense it.

            And he knows. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows you’re not supposed to provoke any werewolf, let alone an alpha, let alone your own alpha, but he’s so pissed off, and he knows he can hold his own. So he ignores his instincts to back down, leans into Derek so their faces are a breath apart, and growls, “Give me a real damn reason why it’s dangerous for either or both of us, or I swear to god I will kick your ass so hard –“

            That is, of course, when Derek finally reacts, shoving Stiles so his back is against the support beam and Derek is leaning into him. (That cannot be safe; they’re probably gonna break it and fall off the porch.) “I don’t need a reason,” Derek growls, eyes flashing, “because being the alpha and knowing better, knowing _more_ than you about this, is reason enough. All you should be doing is obeying my orders and moving on.”

            Stiles struggles against his hold and Derek roars in his face. The urge to flinch, to whine and cower and obey, is strong but Stiles fights against it. Instead he growls right back, lets his own eyes flash and his fangs and claws grow as he shoves in return. “And I said it’s not happening.”

            That’s when Stiles notices the other have shown up because he hears five whines from the front yard. He turns around to growl at them for interrupting the conversation (never mind that he should have noticed them coming) and sees their shocked faces as they come out of protective crouches, sees Allison and Lydia looking shocked and mildly impressed, sees Peter with this calculating gleam in his eye, the one from last night. This is when he realizes what he just did and he freezes, eyes widening and mouth gaping. And looking back up at Derek up against the side of the house he finds him just as amazed, his own eyes wide and staring at him.

            Stepping away from the house, Derek searches his face, eyebrows tilted up and hands twitching like he wants to reach out. “You – Your eyes just flashed between gold and red.”

            “What…” His claws and fangs retract as he stares back. “How did I just do that?” Stiles asks, forgetting his anger for a moment.

            “I – don't know,” Derek admits, shaking his head.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being gone so long; I really had intended to update at least once more before the semester started, but alas that did not happen. So now we're at midterms, I have two big papers to write plus a novella, so I'm not sure when I'll be updating next. In the meantime I hope you enjoy this update and that y'all are doing well.

            “Deaton’s. Now,” Derek orders, shaking it off and grabbing Stiles by the elbow to drag him to the Camaro.

            Stiles doesn’t resist, can’t bring himself to, because he’s still firmly in shock. And anyway, he wants to know just as much about what is going on, if this has to do with the whole mate bond thing or what. And he’d like to have some sort of idea before Peter decides to do something because Stiles can feel his eyes on his back as he gets in the passenger seat, sees his calculating look as Derek slams the clutch into gear and they pull out and down the drive.

            The first few minutes of the ride are made in silence, Derek’s grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled and Stiles’ eyes flitting all over the place and fingers tapping. Then Stiles has to say something.

            “Did you, uh,” he clears his throat, “see the way Peter was looking at me? Because I was more than a little creeped out. Seriously, he gave me the the heeby jeebies. Spine chilling, hair raising, skin crawling – y’know, the whole shebang.”

            When he turns in his seat Derek just cocks an eyebrow, eyes still on the road. Stiles groans. “Dude, how did you not see it? He looked at me like I was a particularly juicy rabbit he wanted to sink his teeth into.”

            “I saw,” Derek says as they get out of the car at Deaton’s, several minutes since Stiles said anything last. “I’m just hoping it doesn’t mean what we both think it does.”

            Stiles snorts. “Our luck isn’t that good.”

            They head inside and Deaton meets them at the gate to the back.

            “What brings you gentlemen back this morning?” he asks as he lets them pass through the mountain ash gate then follows them to his office.

            Scratching the back of his neck, Stiles flops down in one of the chairs while Derek stands behind him, arms crossed.

            “Yeah so uh, we had a bit of a disagreement this morning? And I may or may not have fought and growled back even though my instincts were telling me it was the worst idea ever.”

            Deaton folds his fingers together and props his chin on them. “Interesting.”

            With a huff, Derek steps closer to the back of Stiles’ chair. “He forgot to mention that his eyes flashed red when he was yelling back at me.”

            Humming, the vet looks between them. “It seems the bond is farther along than I originally thought.”

            “But what does that mean?” Stiles demands, throwing his hands up. “Does it mean we can’t stop or reverse it or whatever anymore? Because I’m already becoming an alpha?”

            He focuses on Stiles. “It’s always been your choice, Mister Stilinski. From the beginning.”

            That makes Stiles burst out laughing. “Tell that to him,” he points a thumb over his shoulder at Derek, “because he seems to think otherwise.”

            “That’s not --” Derek breaks off with a growl – at himself or at Stiles, who knows.

            Rolling his eyes, Stiles gets up and points at him. “Well whatever it is you do think? Doesn’t matter because this affects me way more than it does you, and like it or not, I’m letting it happen.”

            It’s Derek’s turn to snort. “Really. You want to share a mate bond with me. You want the responsibilities that come with being an alpha.”

            Stiles shrugs. “Why not? Maybe _someone_ will finally listen to my theories – that are always right, by the way.” He shoves against Derek as he walks past him toward the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll be skipping training today.”

            Derek grabs his shoulder and turns him around. “Where are you going?”

            “Home,” Stiles growls, knocking Derek’s hand away, “where I don’t have to deal with you and your harebrained ideas about what’s good for me.”

            He stalks off and out of the clinic without a goodbye. Of course Derek follows.

            “I drove you here and your Jeep’s at the house.”

            “Then I’ll just walk home. Unless you think I can’t handle that either.”

            “Don’t be an idiot, Stiles,” Derek sighs.

            “Apparently that’s all I know how to be,” Stiles snarks, turning around to face Derek and throw his arms out, walking backward. “So excuse me while I go run out in traffic or something.”

            “Stiles,” Derek growls.

            But no longer does Stiles feel the pull to cower and obey; just the urge to growl right back. So he turns back around and flips Derek off over his shoulder and keeps walking.

            He’s honestly surprised when Derek doesn’t follow him this time.

* * *

 

            Stiles has been walking for awhile, is about halfway to his neighborhood when he catches a scent he knows too damn well, one that sends a shiver down his spine.

            “Go away, Peter,” he mutters.

            “Oh but Stiles,” Peter oozes as he creeps closer, “it’s dangerous for you to be out wandering on your own without your _mate_.” He puts an emphasis on the last word that makes Stiles want to cringe.

            Clenching his fists, Stiles continues walking, eyes looking straight ahead. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, keeping his voice calm and conversational.

            Peter speaks again from right behind him; if he were still human he would’ve startled and stumbled over his own two feet. “Oh I think you know.”

            He snorts. “Don’t think I do.”

            “Use that big brain of yours and _think_ ,” Peter says. “Why would it be dangerous for a beta to be out on his own, one who’s at the tail end of forming a mate bond with an alpha?”

            Stiles swallows thickly. “If you’re implying someone could kill me to gain the power boost I’m getting, or that someone can use me as leverage against Derek, I don’t know how being with you is supposed to make me feel any safer.”

            That earns him a chuckle. “Oh Stiles, I don’t want to kill you or use you as leverage; I want you to kill Derek for me.”

            “What?!” Stiles stumbles to a halt and spins around to face Peter.

            Peter rolls his eyes. “Don’t pretend as if you’ve never thought about or suggested it before.”

            “That was before he was my alpha and my fr—”

            “We both know you don’t feel that compulsion to always obey and protect your alpha because he’s not your alpha anymore.” He steps closer. “And we both know the two of you have never been friends.”

            That shuts Stiles right up, makes him clench his jaw.

            “Would a friend give you the bite knowing you don’t want it?” Peter croons, inching forward. “Would a friend keep to himself information pertinent to you then refuse to see what he did as wrong? Would a friend --”

            “Shut up, just shut up,” Stiles interrupts, refusing to accept that his voice is shaking. “I’m not going to do anything for you, let alone kill Derek. I would _never_ kill him.”

            Taking that last step into Stiles’ space, Peter grabs his chin and grips it tight while he leans in to whisper in his ear. “But just think of all the power and control you’d have. No one to listen to, no one to take orders from, no one to defer to. No one to say the little word you hate so much: ‘no’.”

            Stiles is breathing heavily, claws and fangs itching to come out, as Peter steps back with a smirk.

            “Just think about it. I’ll be eagerly awaiting your answer.” With that he melts back into the nearest shadows, his scent fading away.

            Closing his eyes, Stiles works on controlling his breathing, on forcing down the urge to shift and go after Peter. When he’s able to unclench his hands and jaw he pulls out his phone, dials, and puts it to his ear.

            “Hey,” he says when the person on the other end picks up, “you busy? I need your help.”

* * *

 

            Lydia pulls up next to where Stiles is sitting on the curb, having stayed in the same spot Peter left him. He walks around the front of the car and gets in the passenger seat, clicking in the seatbelt silently as Lydia starts driving again.

            “So are you going to tell me what’s the matter?” Lydia asks, glancing over.

            Sighing, Stiles sinks in his seat. “So y’know how I fought back against Derek hardcore this morning? And my eyes flashed red?”

            “Yeah…”

            “Yeah, well, there’s a reason for that,” Stiles says, and then he explains the mate bond and how Derek knew and didn’t tell him and how Derek doesn’t want to go through with it. “And now Peter wants to me to kill Derek, probably so he can kill me for the power because I’ll be easier to deal with or something. And I knew this would happen, I knew Peter noticed and he try to do something. But did Derek listen when I said something? Noooo, he had to be all positive and shit for once and hope against hope that Peter _wasn’t_ gonna do something evil.”

            “Stiles,” Lydia breaks in sharply before he can continue on a tirade.

            He stops and takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’m good now.”

            “Good,” she says, pulling into his driveway and turning the car off, “because we need to come up with a plan to deal with Peter.”

            “Awe--”

            “But first we need to make Derek understand why you two need to complete this bond.”

            Stiles opens his mouth to say something.

            “And not just because that power boost would be useful.”

            Stiles frowns. “Why else?”

            Lydia rolls her eyes as she gets out of the car, Stiles following. When he’s standing in front of her she pats his cheek condescendingly then turns and walks up the porch without a word.

            “What??” he demands, following her into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter co-written by my beta, eloquenthale on here and (usually) on tumblr.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's your lucky day kiddies; I only have Shakespeare left to study for for finals this week so I was able to edit this chapter - and the next GASP - that I actually wrote a couple weeks ago. So it's a double update this time around! In apology for being gone so long. But I promise, little doves, that the fic is almost complete; only a few more chapters after these two. *cries* I'm gonna miss this fic!
> 
> Okay, now that I've rambled and become non-sensical, time to give you the long awaited ninth chapter.

            “Enlighten me, Lyds,” Stiles says, flopping back onto his bed spread-eagle. “How exactly are we supposed to convince Derek, our mighty alpha who always thinks he’s right and I’m wrong, that mating with me is a good idea?”

            He hears a sigh as she sits down in Derek’s chair next to the bed, so he turns his head to look at her.

            “You can be quite blind sometimes, you know that?” Lydia arches an eyebrow at him. “It won’t take much convincing.”

            He flails into a sitting position, turning to face her fully. “Uhh, have you met Derek? When was the last time I was able to get anything through that thick skull of his? And did he ever give you the impression that he can tolerate me, let alone, y’know, have a relationship with me, a serious one?”

            Lydia stares at him like he’s a bug worth little to none of her time. “You’re an idiot. Of course Derek wants to complete the mate bond with you; I guarantee you right this minute he’s pining for you.”

            “Yeah? What gives you that idea?”

            “Do you know how many times Derek has gotten hurt in a fight because he was trying to protect you?”

            “That’s just because he’s the alpha and I was the weakest link—“

            She talks over him. “Do you know how worried he was after the darach, or any time you’ve gotten more than a scratch?”

            Stiles swallows thickly, remembering what his dad said about Derek not leaving the hospital.

            “As for listening to you, he has done that. Remember this summer?”

            He does remember the summer. The first part of it was spent with Scott forcing himself to give Allison space, Allison giving the pack space, Stiles explaining werewolves and kanimas and hunters to his dad and Lydia, looking for Boyd and Erica. After Allison decided to give Scott another chance and Boyd and Erica came back Stiles thought it was time they all got their shit together. So he did some snooping, got Isaac to tell him where he and Derek were living, arranged a little pack meeting (not telling anyone that’s what it was of course), and barged into the loft. Derek protested at first, growling at them all to get out, and Scott wasn’t too thrilled either, but Stiles laid out the logics and brought everyone around. That’s when the pack really started coming together.

            Then there was the evil lake spirit at the edge of Hale territory, drowning frat boys home for the summer.

            “When Abere was drowning those boys Derek was the only one who actually listened to you so he was able to kill her before he drowned too,” Lydia says.

            Sighing, Stiles runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, Lydia, I get it.”

            “You’d better,” she threatens, “because I’m not explaining this to you twice. You’re smart; I shouldn’t have to.”

            “So what’re you saying?” He shrugs. “Just go to the loft and just, what, tell him we need to do this? I already pretty much confessed my feelings when I said I wanted to complete the bond and he said no, what more do I need to do?”

            “Do it again,” she says, like it’s just that easy.

            “Easy for you to say,” he grumbles, but he gets up and grabs his keys, deciding to just get this over with. Before Peter decides to do something else.

 

* * *

 

            Lydia drops him off at the loft, driving off with a wink. When he turns to the building Stiles can hear Derek working out upstairs. So with a shake of his limbs in an attempt to get rid of the nerves Stiles heads up.

            Back to the door as he jumps up to swing from the salmon ladder he added at some point, Derek doesn’t acknowledge Stiles’ presence.

            “So, uh, where’s everyone else?” Stiles asks, attempting to avoid the issue for just a little bit longer, but that doesn’t get a response either.

            “Your uncle wants me to kill you.”

            That does.

            Derek stops midway up, shoulders bunched and back muscles tense. He still doesn’t say a word but it’s something.

            “Yeah, followed me from the clinic,” Stiles continues, stepping closer. “Said it was dangerous for a beta gaining alpha powers to be away from his mate.” He walks around so they’re facing each other. “Then he did that whole invasion of personal space shtick – must be a Hale thing – and tried to tell me I’d be so much better off if I just killed you; I’d get all the power and I’d have no one to ‘tell me no’.”

            Face twitching like it wants to match his scent of nervousness, sadness, and – acceptance? – Derek lets go, drops down, and finally meets Stiles’ eyes and scoffs. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So how are you going to do it?”

            Stiles’ mouth gapes open. “Are you fucking serious?” He snorts. “Wait, no, of course you are. You’re a fucking moron, you know that? What makes you think I would _ever_ want to kill you?”

            There’s a growl in response then Derek huffs out a laugh. “Really Stiles? I know how you feel about me. I’ve almost died plenty of times in front of you, and all you do is make snarky comments and threaten to let me die.” Stepping back, he spreads his arms wide. “Well here’s your opportunity. So how are you going to do it?”

            Arms gesturing wildly in some sort of expression of his anger and indignation, Stiles exclaims, “You ever think that was just my way of dealing with stress? Maybe sarcasm is just my natural response to blood and guts.” He points a finger at Derek. “And those times? The wolfsbane bullet I had just met you, the pool _you_ were the one that just assumed I didn’t trust you. But oh look, I was gonna cut your fucking arm off, then I fucking held your heavy ass in the water for over two hours.” He shoves hard at Derek. “And trust me, buddy, if I wanted to kill you I wouldn’t announce it or have some fucking evil villain monologue. I’m not fucking Peter.”

            Derek rolls his eyes and grabs Stiles’ wrist. “Then do it. If you’re not Peter, who’s not man enough to do it on his own, then fucking do it. We all know I deserve it.”

            After yanking back his wrist Stiles pushes into Derek’s space, staring him straight in the eyes, his own flashing. “Don’t you fucking say that. You have done nothing but sacrifice yourself and protect all of us, you do _not_ deserve to die.

            Derek growls again. “Then why are you here?”

            “Because I thought I’d warn you!” Stiles yells in his face. “Because I thought if we actually fucking communicate for once we could do something right without anyone getting hurt or dying. Because I –“ Breaking himself off, he swallows thickly. When he speaks again his voice is quieter, hoarse. “Because I don’t want you to die.”

            Eyebrow raised, questioning in that moment before Derek turns around. “Why is this time different? Why are you doing this?”

            Mouth working on a response, wanting to yell but for once not knowing what to say, and knowing that words don’t get through to Derek as well, Stiles decides to just act. So he grabs him by the arm, grip tight enough to bruise a human, and turns Derek back around. Other hand curled in Derek’s shirt, Stiles yanks him forward until their mouths meet. It’s more a hard clashing of teeth than meeting of soft lips but it gets the point across.

            Or at least Stiles hopes it does.

            “Because I love you, you idiot,” he huffs, letting go and stepping back. His eyes flick down to Derek’s lips then down to his chest as Stiles notices Derek’s heart beating at the same fast rate as his own.

            Stiles can see Derek’s jaw clench and hear him take a deep breath before he reaches out and pulls Stiles back into a much softer but needier kiss. He pulls away -- much too soon if you ask Stiles – to catch his breath and lean their foreheads together.

            “Okay.”

            Breath shaky, Stiles clutches at Derek’s hips. “Okay? That’s it? That’s all you have to say? Jeez, Hale, way to use your words.”

            Derek huffs a laugh and shrugs as he wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist. “Not so good with words. You know that.”

            With a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows, Stiles drags his hands up Derek’s sides and chest before folding his arms around Derek’s shoulders. “Why don’t you just show me then?”

            Rolling his eyes, Derek pulls their bodies flush, which draws a groan from Stiles. “You’re an idiot.” And before Stiles can respond he’s cut off with a kiss.

            He grumbles into it before breaking the kiss off with a nip at Derek’s bottom lip. “I thought we decided that, out of the two of us, you were the idiot because c’mon. Which one of us is always right?”

            Scoff. “You are not always right.”

            “Uhh what’re you talking about, dude? I totally am because I –“ kiss “—am –“ kiss “—awesome –“ kiss “—and you know it. I mean, c’mon, admit it: that’s what drew you to me.”

            The next kiss is so hard and biting it makes Stiles’ lip bleed before it heals over.

            “No, what drew me to you was your complete lack of tact and grace.”

            “Aww, such a sweet talker,” Stiles laughs. “Now shut up and kiss me dammit.”

            Eyebrow raised, Derek pulls away. “Who’s the alpha?”

            “Uh,” Stiles scratches the back of his head, “isn’t that sorta the problem? What with the whole,” vague hand motion, “bond starting to make me co-alpha or whatever?” He cocks his head. “Hey, are my eyes red right now or still gold?” He flashes them.

            “Kind of both. But I’m still your alpha.”

            Stiles chews his lip. “I can’t do just a little ordering around?” To show how much he holds up his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “For funsies, just between you and me?”

            That gets a smirk. “Maybe.”

            Stepping in close again, Stiles smiles crookedly. “And how easily can you be persuaded to change that maybe to a hell yes?” With both hands he grabs Derek’s ass and rolls their groins together, trying his hand at some of that persuasion.

            Derek moans softly and picks Stiles up and wraps his legs around his waist, making Stiles yelp before tightening his legs more than happily. “Gonna need a bit more convincing than that.” He smashes their mouths together in a hungry kiss.

            Arms going back around Derek’s shoulders, Stiles groans into the kiss. “Nnngh fuck,” he swears. “How’m I supposed to persuade you from up here? Like this?” Using his feet to push at Derek’s ass and bring them closer, Stiles rolls his hips forward and down to experiment.

            Derek growls out, “Fuck, that might work. Idiot.”

            With a breathless laugh Stiles keeps moving his hips and leans his head down to nip a trail along Derek’s jaw, down to his pulse point where he stops and bites down hard with human teeth.

            Growling loudly, Derek walks them over to the bed and lays Stiles down on his back as he rocks his hips down fast.

            Unable to not growl in response, Stiles feels his claws and fangs itching to come out as Derek pushes him into the bed with his weight and they move together. He grips Derek’s neck and pulls their mouths back together, licking inside without finesse.

            Derek digs his claws into Stiles’ back, just enough to rip the shirt but not break the skin. With a shove of his hips he moves them up the bed, licking and biting into the kiss.

            Claws coming out with a whine low in his throat, Stiles digs his fingers into Derek’s back to the point he feels blood, at which he pulls back panting. “Shit, fuck, I’m sorry.”

            Laughing so hard he chokes on his breath, Derek pulls back. “It’s fine. Just need to work on your control when you get… excited.”

            Head thrown back on the bed, Stiles mutters up to the ceiling, “Laugh it up, fuzzball.” The line is sorta ruined by the sheepish grin he can feel on his face.

            Derek rolls onto his back next to Stiles as he laughs again. “Your comebacks suck when you’re embarrassed and turned on,” he chuckles.

            Stiles rolls onto his side so he’s propped up on his elbow facing Derek. “Embarrassed? Who said I was embarrassed. I don’t get embarrassed. Haven’t since I was kid.” Pokes him in the side. “You’re just ignoring my awesome reference there. But yes,” he straddles Derek’s hips and rolls down, “I am turned on. You gonna do something about that or just keep laughing at me in my time of need?”

            Smirking, Derek reaches up and grips Stiles’ hips. “You forget I’ve been a werewolf all my life; I know when someone’s embarrassed. The smell is overwhelming.” He bucks his hips up. “Though not as much as your scent when you’re turned on.” With that he reaches up and rips off Stiles’ shirt.

            After he gets his arms untangled Stiles glares down at him. “Dude, give a little warning next time before you rip a guy’s shirt off.” In spite, he yanks at Derek’s, forcing the man into a sitting position beneath him as Stiles pulls the shirt off. “That’s better,” he smirks, trailing a claw along Derek’s abs. “Now what was that about my overwhelming aroused scent?” Stiles leans in and nuzzles into Derek’s neck. “Because like you have any room to talk.”

            Mouth on Stiles’ neck now, Derek growls lowly and nips and licks at the skin before moving right over Stiles’ pulse point and marking him despite the fact the bruise will fade soon.

            Stiles feels a rumble, not quite a growl, start up in his chest in response, making his hips buck. His fingers trail down Derek’s back, scratching and stabbing lightly.

            A chuckle tickles against Stiles’ neck. “You’re a wolf, Stiles. Wolves don’t purr.”

            He digs his claws in. “Shut up, McGrowly.” One hand moves up into Derek’s hair and tugs on it to pull his head back, Stiles biting and sucking at his neck, nuzzling the spots after the marks fade away. “God, what is it about your neck?” he groans, licking over and around Derek’s Adam’s apple.

            Derek huffs a laugh. “My name is Derek but god isn’t too far off. As for my neck…” He trails off with a shrug and flips them so he can rock his hips into Stiles’.

            Stiles throws his head back, laughing. “That was such a bad joke.” Still, he wraps his legs around Derek’s waist again, his heels just below the ass pushing to encourage Derek. “You gonna do this a lot, flip us to make sure you’re on top?”

            Smirk. “You loved it.” He rocks his hips hard and deep with a smile. “Gotta assert my dominance while I can.”

            A loud moan punches out of Stiles. “Well you’ll have to –“ breath hitches “—fight for it because,” he rolls them, “I plan on asserting mine.” He grinds down.

            Growling and rolling them again, Derek pins Stiles to the bed with a smirk as he grinds down hard. “There’s only one alpha. You may get some strength, but you know I’ll always be stronger,” he murmurs, leaning down to nip at Stiles’ jawline.

            Head tipped back to give Derek better access, Stiles bucks his hips up. “Well are you all talk or are you gonna show me what a real alpha would do with me?”

            Hands slip down to Stiles’ pants to unbutton and push them down his hips. “Depends, you gonna shut up and stay still for two seconds?”

            Unwrapping his legs from Derek’s waist and lifting his hips to help, Stiles smirks. “I can be persuaded.”

            With a yank, Derek takes off Stiles’ pants then reaches up and tugs down his boxers as well. He looks Stiles up and down with an appreciative smirk before crawling back up to kiss him.

            Stiles grabs the back of Derek’s neck and kisses back, laughing into his mouth as his other hand works on Derek’s pants.

            Laughing with Stiles, Derek pulls back to help.

            Pushing him off his lap so he can pull off Derek’s pants and underwear, Stiles tosses them somewhere. “Huh.” He cocks his head, looking Derek over.

            A raise of an eyebrow. “You’re very reassuring,” he says in his usual flat tone.

            His hands wave in front of Stiles as he laughs. “No no, it’s good, you’re all… good, more than good. I just,” he shrugs, “never saw or been with another guy, or another person really, in this context before. So it’s – new, I guess?” He shrugs again. “I don’t know, just ignore me.”

            Derek grabs one of Stiles’ wrists and brings it up to place a kiss on the pulse point. “Relax. It’s okay. I know it’s awkward and we’re both… nervous. But we don’t have to do anything we both aren’t ready for.”

            Huffing, Stiles smiles. “Oh no, I am definitely up for whatever you are.” He cups Derek’s cheek and strokes it with his thumb. “This’ll just take getting used to.”           

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, yeah, sorry; meant it when I made this rated teen and up. If y'all are good maybe the ratings will go up for some bonus sexy shenanigans. ;P
> 
> Chapter co-written by my beta, eloquenthale.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is chapter ten added right along with chapter nine! So if y'all didn't notice that and just came right on over to this precious morsel, ya might want to mosey on back a chapter or ya might be a tad confused.

            Stiles wakes up to Derek’s voice whispering, “Knew you’d be an octopus,” then a nose nuzzling in his hair. Grumbling, he burrows his face into Derek’s chest and wraps his arms tighter around him.

            “You’re going to have to get up at some point,” Derek chuckles, placing a kiss in Stiles’ hair and bringing a hand up to rub the small of Stiles’ back.

            “Nope,” Stiles yawns, arching into Derek’s hand and shifting to stuff his face in Derek’s neck. “Too warm ‘n’ comfy.”

            A huff of a laugh is the response. “I swear you’re more cat than wolf.”

            “Mm… get it from my mother’s side.” Stiles smiles into Derek’s skin.

            “That so?”

            Lifting his head Stiles licks Derek’s cheek. “Yep,” he says with a pop of the ‘p’.

            Derek rolls them over and pins Stiles down. “You’re disgusting.” He smirks and leans down to kiss Stiles.

            With a laugh Stiles kisses back. “Yeah, well, no refunds, sorry.”

            “Damn,” Derek heaves out.

            Stiles reaches down and pinches Derek’s ass. “Don’t even front, dude, you know you’re glad you finally with this.”

            Rolling off, Derek settles on his back and rolls his eyes up at the ceiling. “Yeah, Stiles. That’s right.” He reaches over and flicks him on the nose. “Get over yourself, Stilinski.”

            “C’mon, baby,” Stiles croons, turning on his side to face Derek and struggling to keep a straight face. “Don’t be like that.”

            Derek turns, leans forward, and nips at Stiles’ mouth. “Stop that.”

            “Stop what?”

            “Being a dick.”

            Leaning back in, Stiles gives him a soft kiss. “Sorry.”

            A hand comes up and runs through his hair. “It’s fine.”

            He leans into it with a sigh, closing his eyes and feeling Derek watching him with a genuine smile.

            “Mm do we have to get up? Can’t we just stay here all day?”

            Sigh. “This is probably the last place we should be.”

            Stiles opens his eyes with a frown. “Why?” He thinks about it. “Oh, this’ll probably be the first place anyone looks for us, won’t it?”

            “Especially Peter.”

            Stiles grimaces. “Okay, I definitely don’t want to stay here anymore. Ooh!” He perks up. “We should get, like, a hiding place or something for when we wanna get away from the pack.”

            Eyebrow raised, Derek looks at Stiles. “Are you suggesting a romantic meeting spot? We aren’t in a Shakespeare play, Stiles.”

            That earns an eye roll. “It doesn’t have to be for sex and shit, dumbass, just when the pups are being annoying or stupid.”

            “So… every day?”

            Snorting, Stiles smacks his chest. “Oh like you don’t have your days.”

            Derek huffs. “No.”

            “That’s such a dirty lie, dude, and you know it. There are some days I really just want to punch you in the face. Other days in the dick.”

            “Then do it,” Derek growls.

            Annoyed but still playing, Stiles flashes his eyes. “Maybe I will.”

            That makes Derek freeze. “Do that again.” When Stiles does, Derek sits up. “Your eyes.”

            Stiles sits up too. “Did we… Are they red now?”

            Grabbing Stiles’ face gently, a hand on each cheek, Derek brings them eye-to-eye. “Do it one more time.”

            Breath held, Stiles does as he’s asked without question for probably the first time in years, if ever.

            After seeing what he was apparently not looking for, Derek lets go of Stiles’ face and gets out of bed, dressing. Swallowing thickly, Stiles gets up and dresses as well, tripping and swearing at his pants because his arms and legs are shaking with nerves.

            Dressed, Derek grabs his jacket and keys. “Let’s go.” Barely waiting for Stiles to stuff on his shoes and hoodie, he grabs his wrist and walks down the stairs and outside.

            “Dude, chill,” Stiles mutters, stumbling after.

            “Really? Now’s not the fucking time, Stiles,” Derek growls, getting in the Camaro and waiting for Stiles before heading to Deaton’s.

            “Yeah, well, I’m freaking out here,” Stiles growls back, “and you’re really not fucking helping.”

            Derek growls louder than the last time, but all it really does is annoy Stiles rather than frighten him. “Well I’m freaking out too, and I don’t need your fucking attitude right now.”

            Clenching his fists, Stiles claws dig into his palms, blood dripping through his fingers, so he doesn’t do something stupid. “And you don’t have to be a fucking asshole…”

            The rest of the drive is done in silence, Derek climbing out of the car and waiting impatiently – when is that guy ever patient? – when they get there. Stiles slams the door then stomps past Derek and inside straight to Deaton’s office, Derek trailing after.

            The emissary looks up from his desk. “Gentlemen, back again?”

            “Show him,” Derek orders, turning to Stiles.

            Huffing, Stiles flashes his eyes at Deaton.

            “What now?” Derek growls.

            Fingers steepled below his chin, Deaton hums. “I believe it means your bond is nearly complete.”

            “‘Nearly’? What the fuck is _left_? My eyes are red!” Stiles feels his fangs and claws grow, his voice a growl.

            A hand comes out and grips the back of his neck, claws digging in slightly. “Stop.”

            Stiles closes his eyes and forces himself to breathe.

            Derek’s hand rubs his neck a little. “So what’s next? What else could there be?”

            Deaton spreads his hands. “An admission of love.”

            Letting go of Stiles’ neck, Derek growls, “We did that already.”

            “No,” Stiles says, turning and looking at him, “wedidn’t. _I_ did, not you.”

            For a moment Derek just stands there, staring back, heart pounding. But then he just turns and walks out.

            “Goddammit, Derek.” He follows without a word to Deaton, done with the vet.

            At the edge of the woods is Derek, even though they drove the Camaro there. Growling, Stiles sprints after and pounces on Derek’s back. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

            Shifting into beta form beneath him, Derek growls. “Get off me.”

            Stiles wraps his legs around him and digs claws in. “No.”

            The alpha roars and throws Stiles off, ripping Stiles’ claws out of him and leaving marks. “Get the fuck off me.”

            “What is your damn problem, huh?” Stiles yells, getting up and marching back up to Derek.

            Derek shifts back to a complete human form. “Leave me alone, Stiles.”

            “Why?” He means to growl, wanting to stay angry, but it comes out broken, which should piss him off but it just – it doesn’t. “Would it be so bad?”

            “Don’t.” Derek shakes his head just enough for Stiles to notice. “Don’t do that.”

            “Fine.” Frustrated, Stiles scrubs at his face, though there aren’t any tears. “If you’re gonna keep being an emotionally repressed dick I don’t have to stick around for this.”

            Looking down at the ground, Derek responds, “Then go.”

            Stiles turns around and starts walking away, hoping Derek will stop him.

            He doesn’t.

            Shifting, Stiles starts running full out, the further away from Derek the faster he gets.

 

* * *

 

            Derek sighs and shifts. He’s so fucking angry with himself, but he can’t tell Stiles, he just can’t.

            He runs circles around the town until he’s so dead tired he practically collapses when he reaches the Camaro to go home. When he gets home he immediately goes for the shower. Getting out, all he wants to do is crawl into the bed. The sheets, though – they smell like Stiles. So he rips them off and doesn’t bother putting on new ones, just crawls onto the bare mattress and passes out.

 

* * *

 

            After awhile Stiles just collapses in the woods, he doesn’t know where, and just sits there, too tired to even do anything. But his dad will be wondering where he is so he heads home.

 

* * *

 

            He dreams about nothing. It’s just him out in the woods with nothing around him. Derek thinks he’s fine, but when he turns around he sees Kate and Stiles. She’s got Stiles on a silver-spiked leash, and his eyes are glowing. Stiles is shifted and he looks rabid.

            She smirks at Derek as she holds a gun. Letting go of Stiles’ leash, the rapid wolf comes charging at Derek, taking him to the ground. Derek holds Stiles above himself and just enough away so he can’t out Derek’s throat. As he struggles Derek hears her walk over and just as he looks up she holds the gun to Stiles’ head and fires.

            Waking up with a gasp, Derek isn’t sure what the hell just happened.

            He looks around and Stiles isn’t there. He tries to go back to sleep but he can’t. Deciding the only way he’ll feel better is if he checks up on Stiles, Derek gets up and heads out to the Stilinski house on foot.

 

* * *

 

            Stiles walks inside the house and heads toward the stairs.

            “Stiles?” his dad calls from the kitchen.

            Feet dragging, he walks into the room. “Yeah dad?”

            “What’ve you been up to?” John looks up from a file on the kitchen table. “What’s wrong?”

            Shrug. “Nothing.”

            He sighs, “Stiles…”

            “Just,” Stiles rolls his eyes, “just Derek being Derek.”

            John raises a brow. “And that’s supposed to reassure me how?”

            Stiles just smiles uncomfortably.

            Taking off his glasses, Stiles’ dad rubs at his forehead with his knuckle. “Son, if it wasn’t a big deal you wouldn’t be – well,” he gestures at Stiles, “like this.”

            With a roll of his eyes Stiles goes over to the fridge. “Gee, thanks dad.”

            “You know what I mean.”

 

* * *

 

            Derek just keeps walking, not really having the energy to run. When he gets to Stiles’ house he hears the Stilinskis talking.

 

* * *

 

            “Yeah,” Stiles pauses to drink from the jug of milk, “just not now, dad, okay?” He can feel his dad giving him The Look so Stiles forces a more genuine smile. “Maybe later.”

            “All right,” he sighs as he goes back to paperwork, knowing he won’t get anything else tonight. “But not too long; I know how you like to avoid things for as long as possible.”

            “Promise,” Stiles says as he passes his dad, squeezing his shoulder before heading upstairs. “I’m gonna go take a shower now.”

            “Thanks for the warning,” he deadpans under his breath, either forgetting Stiles can hear him now or saying it because he remembers.

            Stiles takes his time, washing away everything from last night even though a part of him – a way too large part – doesn’t want to get rid of Derek’s scent. Once he’s done he dries off and just puts on a t-shirt and boxers.

            That’s when he hears and smells Derek in his room. So he sighs and goes in, closing the door behind him. “What.” He’s too tired to make it a question let alone pretend to still be as mad or as sad as he was earlier.

            Derek’s nostrils flare, like he’s smelling Stiles, doesn’t find his scent, and doesn’t like it. Well good.

            “Just…” Derek grunts, “needed to check on you.” He stands and heads back toward the window.

            “Whatever,” Stiles mutters, flopping down on his bed.

            There’s a sigh from the window. “You know I… Never mind.” The window opens and Derek starts to crawl out.

            “Wait,” Stiles calls, wincing at himself.

            Pretty much sitting on the window ledge, Derek waits for Stiles to speak again.

            He scrubs his hands over his face. “Fuck, man…”

            Crawling back in, Derek stays by the window. “Stiles. Just. You know that I…” he trails off.

            “That you what?” Stiles sighs up at the ceiling before turning his head to look at Derek, who sighs in return.

            “Stiles, you know that I care about you.”

            “Do you?”

            That gets a growl. “You’re a fucking idiot if you think otherwise.”

            Stiles sits up and gestures with his arms. “Well _sorry,_ but you don’t exactly show it.”

            Never one to give up the classics, Derek gets into Stiles’ personal space. “How am I supposed to show it. Enlighten me.”

            A huge shrug is Stiles’ initial answer. “You’re asking me? I don’t know anything about this shit.

            “But I just…” He shrugs again.

            “What do you want from me, Stiles?” Derek almost begs, though he probably doesn’t realize it.

            “I just want the truth.”

            Derek tenses. “The truth about what.”

            “Your opinion on whether a tomato is a fruit or a vegetable. What do you think, dipshit?”

            “Stiles, you’re a fucking idiot. You know that I… Why do I need to say it.”

            “Maybe because I need to hear it, just once,” Stiles growls.

            “You’re so fucking stubborn,” Derek growls back.

            “Well get fucking used to it.” Glare.

            There’s a bearing of teeth. “I don’t know why I do, but I fucking love you, you fucking idiot.”

            He feels his heart skip a beat but Stiles ignores it. “You do? I mean uh,” he clears his throat, “I can hear, ‘course you do.” Stiles fights back a grin.

            Rolling his eyes, Derek grabs Stiles’ hips to pull them together. “You’re an idiot.”

            “No you,” Stiles snarks, letting himself be pulled in.

            Derek huffs a laugh and kisses him. Leaning into him, Stiles kisses back with a nip at Derek’s lip and grips the front of Derek’s shirt.

            When he pulls back Derek is actually smiling. So many smiles in the past 24 hours. “Dick.”

            “I didn’t hear any complaints last night.” Stiles waggles his eyebrows.

            He flicks Stiles’ nose and pulls away. “Goodnight.”

            “Yeah whatever, just leave me in my time of need,” Stiles sighs dramatically. “When I might go crazy with alpha-ness.”

            Sigh. “If anything, you should be at my place so you don’t hurt your dad.”

            “If I didn’t do anything to him when I first turned why would I now?”

            Shrug. “I don’t know; I haven’t known anyone who’s turned into an alpha by a bond.”

            “You’re probably right, I should go home with you. “He throws his head back and sighs. “Such a hardship.”

            Eye roll. “Go tell your father.”

            Smiling and giving Derek a kiss, Stiles thumps down to the bottom of the stairs. “Hey dad,” he yells, “I’m headed to Derek’s for the night!”

            “Okay son,” he yells back. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

            Stiles sputters and when he gets back to his room he finds Derek laughing so hard he can’t breathe. “Don’t be a douchwad or I won’t go home with you,” he complains, pulling on some pants and socks, putting phone, keys, and wallet in pockets.

            “Right.” There was probably an eye roll. Dude rolls his eyes so much one of those ridiculous wives’ tales is bound to happen to him one day. So a backpack gets thrown at his head.

            “Shut it, chuckles, and let’s go.”

            Derek grabs Stiles’ hand and leads the way out of the house, taking them through the woods.

            Twining their fingers together, Stiles snorts. “So romantic, a walk through the woods.”

            “Yeah, an alpha and his mate,” Derek says, voice dry. “That’s not dangerous at all.”

            Stiles snickers. “Nope, we’re perfectly docile.”

            “I don’t mean we are dangerous.”

            “I didn’t either?” Stiles gives Derek a funny look, not understanding what he’s getting at.

            He sighs. “Never mind.”

            He nudges their shoulders together. “No, c’mon, what?”

            “Nothing.”

            “Okay…?”

            They walk in silence for a bit before Derek speaks up again. “So do you feel any different?”

            Stiles shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe a little?”

            “Like what?”

            “Just – kinda like how it was right after you bit me, when everything was… more. Y’know?”

            Derek gives a small smile. He needs to stop that before Stiles expects, craves those smiles directed at him at least a couple times a day. “Okay.”

            Cocking his head, Stiles muses, “It’s also like I can feel you or something but not really? I don’t know, I can’t really describe it.”

            Coming to a stop, Derek lets go of Stiles’ hand. “So can you feel this?” He punches a tree next to them.

            Stiles’ eyebrows raise. “And that was supposed to do what for me?”

            “I was seeing if you can feel it. Nothing other than that.”

            Feeling a weird sting like it’s healing with something stuck beneath the skin, Stiles shakes out his hand. “Hey, do you have some splinters?”

            Flashing his eyes so he can see better, Derek looks down at his hand. “Maybe one or two.”

            Stiles grabs Derek’s hand and digs the splinters out with his claw. “Ow ow ow. Okay that I definitely felt.”

            “You’ll get used to it,” Derek laughs, and Jesus he’s just a real laugh box now, what the hell is up with that?

            “So you’re saying that’s normal?” Stiles exclaims, sucking on his knuckles to soothe the phantom pain.

            “I’m saying you’ll get used to the pain.” Derek rolls his eyes. “I always end up hurt protecting your goofy ass.”

            He gets shoved as Stiles starts walking again. “Whatever. Like you’ve done all the protecting.”

            “Whatever.”

            “So why’re we taking the woods back to the loft? I thought we shouldn’t be there right now since it’s the first place Peter will look for us?”

            “Did I say we were going back to the loft?”

            “Um, where are we going then? And please don’t say the burnt out husk of your family home, I really don’t think I could sleep there either.”

            Eye roll. “We are going there but not to that house. I’ve been working on a small place on the back side of the property.”

            Stiles looks over his shoulder at Derek. “Since when? Why haven’t I seen or heard about this ‘til now?”

            “You can’t keep a secret,” Derek snorts. “Only person who knows is Lydia.”

            “Excuse you, I can so keep a secret! And why Lydia?”

            They come into the clearing with the house just then and Derek leads the way around back. “Go inside and that will answer your question.”

            “She did the decorating and shit, didn’t she?” Stiles laughs. When he goes in he laughs some more, looking around the room at the walls and furniture. “Oh my god, she did. But it’s so you.”

            Leaning in the doorway, Derek shrugs. “I like it.”

            There’s a dark couch in the middle of the living room, so Stiles goes over and sits down to test it out. “Oh my god, it’s so comfy.” He strokes the material. “I think I might leave you for your cou- wait.” Getting back up, he spins in a slow circle as he looks around. “Where’s your bedroom? I wanna see what the bed’s like before I make any hasty decisions.”

            “Hasty to get to the bedroom though,” Derek observes, brow raised.

            Stiles sticks his tongue out. “Shut up, maybe I’m just really tired and want to go to sleep.”

            “That’s the plan.”

            “Duh. Now lead the way.” He motions around him, not knowing which way leads to Derek’s room.

            Derek goes to one of the only other doors in the place and walks Stiles into the bedroom.

            Stiles heads straight to the bed and crawls on. “Oh my god,” he moans, sprawling out and sinking in. “It’s official, I’m leaving you for your bed.” He wraps his arms around a pillow and nuzzles into it. “Aww, it doesn’t really smell like you yet.” He is way too disappointed by that. Meh, oh well; wolfy senses and mate bond and all that.

            There’s a huff of amusement some the side of the bed. “I haven’t been here much.”

            Rolling over, Stiles sits up to get undressed, kicking off his shoes first. “Why not?”

            He shrugs. “Not ready.”

            With a tug Stiles’ hoodie and shirt come off at once before he works on his pants, looking Derek up and down to ask why he’s still fully clothed. “What d’you mean?”

            “I meant it when I said sleeping was the plan,” Derek huffs.

            “Dude, I didn’t say anything about anything else.” Stiles pulls off his pants and socks then hops back on the bed toward the pillows. “I’m just getting ready, jeez. I’ll put my shirt back on if it’ll make you feel better.” He reaches for it with his foot, too lazy to lean over.

            Derek rolls his eyes. “No.” He takes off his shirt and pants and joins Stiles in bed.

            Drawing his leg back up, Stiles burrows under the covers with a grin. “See? I’m behaving.

            “Now what did you mean you weren’t ready to stay here?”

            An arm wraps around his waist. “I just… I don’t know if I’m ready to live in a house without anyone else in it.”

            Stiles uses the arm around him to pull Derek closer with a hum. “I get it.”

            Sighing, Derek runs a hand through Stiles’ hair. “Just… doesn’t feel the same.”

            “I bet.” He turns his head so he can kiss the palm of Derek’s hand. “So good thing you got me here; I’m loud enough to fill in for the presence of, like, at least four people.”

            Derek hums a soft laugh. “I don’t want four people; I just want you.”

            Leaning in, Stiles kisses Derek slowly but thoroughly. “Good,” he whispers against his lips before kissing him again.

            As he kisses back just as slowly Derek pulls Stiles closer. “Go to sleep,” he whispers when they pull apart.

            Smiling sleepily, Stiles settles into the pillow and closes his eyes. “Night.” He drifts off snuggled close, Derek’s breath fanning across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, so much dialogue his chapter, I know. (Derek is such a chatty Cathy. Whodathunk?) These two just need to shut up and make with the sexy times, am I right? (Expect no, they kinda need to deal with Peter and figure out the whole co-alpha thing first.)
> 
> Chapter co-written by my beta, eloquenthale.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so, so, so sorry I haven't updated in so long. I know I said I would update in the summer, but I had a job and barely had any free time to do anything. Then I strained my ankle and couldn't work anymore or even walk much, but I was finishing a scarf for my sister that had been intended for last Christmas. Plus, y'know, had a bit of a block. BUT I am //back// and I plan on writing at least some of next chapter tonight, however I make no promises.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you are all doing well and I hope you enjoy! Let me know if there are any tweaks that need to be made, and as ever you're free to share any theories you have. ;)
> 
> Also, just so you know, most of this chapter was co-written by my beta, eloquenthale. :)

            He’s back at the loft and Stiles is there with him. They’re just hanging out when Stiles turns to him and gives him a wicked smile. The chain reappears around Stiles’ neck but this time… This time it’s Peter holding the other end. And all Derek can hear is ‘kill him’ before Stiles snaps forward and claws at Derek’s throat. He gasps and wakes up holding onto Stiles, the real Stiles, tightly, panting.

            He must have woken Stiles up because his sleep-rough voice says from next to him, “Hey, you okay?”

            Derek sits up and just breathes hard, trying to calm down his racing heart so he won’t worry Stiles. “Yeah. Yeah I’m fine.”

            Stiles stays lying down, rubbing his back.

            Sighing after a few moments like that, Derek lies back down. “Sorry I woke you up.”

            Stiles’ response is to roll so he’s lying on top of Derek, probably sensing that Derek needs his weight holding him down, needs something to remind him even in his sleep that Stiles is there and they’re both okay. No Kate, no Peter.

            “’s okay,” Stiles mumbles groggily, hands stroking Derek’s side and arm.

            He buries his face in Stiles’ hair, falling asleep to his scent in his nose and his caressing hands.

            When he wakes up again – no more dreams this time – Derek finds Stiles clinging to him again. “I have an octopus for a mate.”

 

* * *

 

            After he falls back asleep, hands drifting to a stop, Stiles’ dreams are indistinct and random – a relief from his usual nightmares. When he does wake up it’s slowly, so he can hear Derek’s voice but not what he’s saying. So he just snuffles into Derek’s chest and tightens his hold. “Mmf… nggl mmfpg…”

            There’s a huff of soft laughter by his ear before hands tickle up and down his sides, making Stiles snicker and squirm.

            “Dick,” he mumbles.

            Derek just keeps it up then flips them, sitting low across Stiles’ hips to keep him pinned to the bed, his squirming useless. So instead Stiles tries to buck his hips to throw Derek off but it just makes Stiles groan as it rubs their morning woods together.

            Hips roll down into his. “Good morning to you too.”

            “I hate you,” Stiles moans, opening his eyes to glare up at Derek.

            He smirks. “If that’s true then I guess,” Derek rolls off and out of bed, “I’ll just go start making food.”

            Crawling to the edge of the bed, Stiles grabs hold of Derek’s boxer-briefs. “Don’t be a tease.”

            His hand is swatted away. “Food.”

            “Fiiiine,” Stiles sighs, getting out of bed as his stomach rumbles.

            Which just makes Derek laugh. “See? I told you you were hungry.”

            “I’m always hungry,” he snorts, going to leave the room in search of the kitchen.

            “You need to go to the bathroom first,” Derek says with an eye roll, like he knows everything.

            Actually… “I’m not even gonna ask how or why you know that. Just – where is it?”

            “The feelings thing,” Derek gestures between them, “works both ways. And use the one in here. Door over there on the far wall.”

            “This is gonna be so cool but so fucking annoying at the same time,” Stiles muses, going to the bathroom. That gets a laugh out of Derek as he leaves the bedroom.

            When Stiles finishes up, sighing with relief, he washes his hands then follows Derek’s scent and heart beat to the kitchen. “So what’s for breakfast?”

            “What would you like?” Derek asks, leaning back against a counter.

            “What do you have?” Stiles hops up next to him.

            “I can make pancakes, French toast, waffles, eggs, omelets, hash browns – those might take a while though. Anything really. I have some fruit in the fridge too. So what do you want?”

            Stiles cocks his head. “Why do you have so much food if you’re never here?”

            “I just finished the place and I was planning on moving in soon, so I had to have stuff here.” He shrugs.

            “Ah cool.” Stiles nods, kicking the cupboards a little. “I feel like pancakes. Do you have sausage or bacon to go with? And maple syrup?”

            Derek scoffs. “Of course I do.”

            “Awesome,” Stiles singsongs before looking Derek up and down. “Do you often cook in your underwear?”

            He hums, getting out the necessary ingredients. “I might. Why?”

            Stiles shrugs, grinning. “Nothing. Just kind of adorable. But also hot. Can’t decide which is more.”

            Derek rolls his eyes. “Maybe it was a bad idea that we started having sex.”

            “Hah! You’re funny,” Stiles deadpans. “No take backs, bro.”

            That gets a cringe. “Stop calling me bro.”

            “Dude, I said it once.” He scratches a hand through his hair, sticking it on end. “But I can see why you don’t want that. Sorry.”

            Huff. “I’m not your bro. Scott is your bro.”

            Hands come up in defense. “Jeez, okay, sorry.”

            Derek rolls his eyes again and goes on with making breakfast.

            “Soooo…” Stiles says after a moment of silence. “How’s this gonna work, me sort of being a second alpha in the pack?”

            Sigh. “Well I’m still alpha but you’re allowed to give orders as well. You’re kind of like the… den mother…”

            “ _What?_ ” Stiles squawks, flailing and almost falling off the counter. “I am not the fucking den mother! No way.” He shakes his head. “I’d be a horrible mother. Not counting the fact I have a _penis_ , which you are well aware of.”

            God, how many times is Derek gonna roll his eyes at him? “It’s just an easy comparison. A pack is a family. You and I are the parents, they are the children.”

            “I’d still be a horrible parent,” Stiles grumbles, picking at a loose thread on his boxers. “All I do is make fun of them, kick their asses (now that I can), and encourage them to do stupid, dangerous shit because it’ll be awesome.”

            “And yet you love them,” Derek responds, still looking down at the pancakes, “would die for them, protect them at any cost, shelter them if they need it, and continue to be there for them.

            “Hate to break it to you, but you’re a parent. Congratulations, you have kids.”

            “Awesome. Just what I always wanted, to be a teenage parent. Next thing you know I’m gonna be a grandfather before I even finish college.” He perks up. “Hey, does this mean I get to ground them? Or make them do stupid shit, like see how many raw bunnies they can eat before they get sick?”

            Derek shrugs. “Well at the rate Scott, Allison, and Isaac go at it, who knows. And no. You don’t get to do things like that.”

            “Dude, I don’t wanna think about that!” Stiles groans.

            “Welcome to parenthood,” Derek says, flipping some pancakes. “You got wolf married to me so now you inherit things from me like our ridiculous wolf children.”

            “Damn…” Stiles rests his chin in his hand. “What was I thinking when I agreed to this?”

            Derek keeps his eyes down. “You can get out of it if you want.”

            Stiles just snorts because it’s too late for that warning. “Fat chance of that. You’re stuck with me, big guy.”

            “Okay.”

            He sits and watches Derek then, actually enjoying silence for once – though it isn’t silent with these senses, not really. After Derek finishes the first batch of pancakes, sets them on a plate, and starts the bacon Stiles speaks up again. “Do you need any help?”

            He shrugs. “Sure.”

            Hopping down, Stiles heads over to the stove. “Which do you want me to do?”

            “You can do the bacon, I’ll finish the pancakes.”

            Stiles pokes him in the side. “It’d better not pop at me.”

            Derek rolls his eyes. “You’ll heal.”

            “Still annoying.”

            “You mean like you?” Derek smirks.

            Stiles fake laughs before turning his attention to the bacon.

            Breakfast is a pretty quiet affair; not much is said, and when there is it’s just mundane shit just to fill the silence. Actually, thinking about it, breakfast probably couldn’t be considered quiet since Stiles talks pretty much the whole time, but it’s just random shit he’s found in his reckless dives into Wikipedia. The point is that it’s nice: good food, good company, a minimum of bickering, a break from thinking about mate bonds and evil uncles.

            So of course that’s when Stiles hears and smells Lydia outside the cabin right before she knocks. Exchanging looks, Derek gets up with a sigh to let her in while Stiles puts the dirty dishes in the sink.

            Eyebrow raised, Lydia smirks at them. “Got your heads out of your asses then?”

            Rolling his eyes, Derek motions for her to sit in the armchair adjacent to the couch in the living room while he and Stiles take said couch. “So why’re you showing up at my private cabin?”

            “Stiles didn’t tell you?”

            Derek sighs and looks at Stiles. “Tell me what?”

            “Uh,” Stiles scrubs a hand through the back of his hair, “you know how I said Peter wants me to kill you, then will probably kill me?”

            “Because I’m likely to forget that any time soon,” Derek snorts, wrapping an arm around Stiles to pull their sides flush together as if that will keep him safe.

            “Right,” he clears his throat, “well before I came to find you Lydia and I were talking and we’re thinking the three of us need to come up with a plan to deal with him.”

            “Just,” Lydia says, raising a hand before Derek can say anything, “the three of us because if the others are a part of it Peter will be tipped off and it won’t work.”

            Derek’s brow furrows. “Shouldn’t we at least tell Allison? It’d be good to have a hunter in on our plan, don’t you think? Easier to deal with Peter?”

            Stiles tries to suppress the warm, fuzzy feeling he gets at that suggestion, but judging from the way Derek looks at him with his eyebrows raised, he doesn’t succeed. “What?” Stiles shrugs. “Not too long ago, you would’ve rather died than even think about working with a hunter, let alone suggest it yourself.”

            He shrugs back. “We’ve all come a long way.”

            “Hence the happiness just now.”

            Lydia clears her throat pointedly and rolls her eyes at them. “If we can get back to planning? Or do you two need to flirt some more?”

            “We weren’t –“ Stiles starts to protest before sighing, giving up. “Whatever. Anyway, I don’t think Allison needs to necessarily need to be in on it right away. Like Lydia said, if too many people know Peter will catch on, and Allison is quick so she’ll figure it out and back us up however we need her to.”

            Nodding, Derek leans back with his arms crossed, thinking. “So we somehow need to convince Peter that you decided you want to take his offer…” He huffs. “Good thing you’ve gotten so good at lying your heart doesn’t even skip when you don’t want it to.”

            “Yeah,” Stiles sighs, scratching absently at his face, “but you know he’s going to want to actually see me kill you, see for himself that you’re dead.”

            “While you two were working through your communication problems, I found a potion that can mimic the effects of death so well that only Stiles can tell you’re dead, since the two of you are bonded now,” Lydia says. “You both just need to make the fight convincing, and you,” she points to Stiles, “need to make the wounds deep and close enough to fatal that it looks like your attack is what killed him.”

            Swallowing thickly, Stiles looks at Derek, who’s already watching him, expression soft and trusting. “I don’t know if I have enough control for that. I don’t – I don’t know if I can go for the neck or the stomach and not go too deep by accident.”

            Probably feeling his worry and nerves, Derek uncrosses his arms and reaches over to grab one of Stiles’ hands, twining their fingers together and squeezing tightly. “Stiles,” he says softly, “you have the most control out of any of us. Hell, you had more control have you were first bitten than I did as a teenager and I’m a born wolf. You’re a natural.” He reaches his other hand up to cup Stiles’ cheek, which Stiles leans into, and rests their foreheads together. “And I trust you with my life and those of the pack.”

            Eyes closed, Stiles lets out a slow, careful breath. “Okay…”

            After a minute he pulls back and clears his throat, looking back across to Lydia. “So, how long do you think it’ll take you to make this potion or whatever? And how’re we gonna do this so that the whole pack is there to back us up?”

            She pulls an old book from her oversized purse and sets it on the coffee table. “I just need to get the ingredients from Deaton, which will be easy.

            “And as for getting the whole pack together?” She smirks. “You’re the alphas – call a pack meeting.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter, darlings! After this there's just an epilogue. :) I'm not sure when that'll be up, but hopefully not too long.
> 
> Oh, and just in case, trigger warnings at end notes.

            Taking a deep breath, Stiles presses “CALL” and puts his phone to his ear. The dial tone sounds far too loudly for comfort, his nerves messing with his control before he tamps it down. Just after that the call connects.

            “Hello, Stiles.”

            “Yeah, hi.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Just calling to let you know I’m in.”

            He can hear the smirky satisfaction in Peter’s voice, making Stiles roll his eyes. “Excellent. I’m guessing you’ve already come up with a plan for how to deal with Derek and make the pack yours?”

            Stiles mimes shooting himself in the head. “Yeah, I’m calling a pack meeting this afternoon at four, usual place. See you then.” With that he hangs up, not wanting to hear anymore of Peter’s B-list movie villain lines. Tossing down his phone, Stiles puts his hands on his hips and raises his eyebrows expectantly. “So, how do you think I did?”

            Finger tapping her lips, Lydia looks up to the ceiling with a hum. “Could’ve been better.”

            Derek rolls his eyes. “It got the job done, message delivered. That’s all that matters. Now we just need to play this fight in a way that’ll convince the pack and Peter until you’ve got him occupied so we can take him out.”

            Nodding and chewing on his shifted claws, Stiles paces between the couch and armchair. “I think I know what to say to get the ball rolling.”

            “But do you think you can build up enough anger?” Lydia asks.

            With a look at Derek, Stiles thinks about what Peter wants him to do to his alpha, his mate… about what Peter wants to do to the whole pack. Jaw clenched, Stiles nods. “Yeah, you bet I can.”

 

* * *

 

            All the betas plus Lydia and Allison were there, in the clearing in front of the partially remodeled Hale house, all asking Stiles why he had called for a pack meeting and where was Derek.

            “There’s, uh, something I wanted to talk to you guys about,” Stiles says, standing in front of them all on the porch.

            “And what was so important that I didn’t need to be involved in?” Derek asks as he comes out of the treeline from the west side of the house. Peter hasn’t come out of the woods from the east side yet; Stiles knows he’s waiting until he sees and hears Derek fall.

            Stiles shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, where he clenches them into fists to stave off the shift. “You’re the topic of discussion actually.”

            Eyebrows lift high on Derek’s forehead as he jumps onto the porch to stand in front of Stiles, their sides facing the pack, Derek’s arms crossed. “Oh really? What about me?”

            That gets a (forced) snort out of Stiles. “Where do I even begin?” He counts off on his fingers, stepping closer with each one. “You’re controlling, you’re an antisocial recluse who doesn’t know the first thing about interacting with people, you don’t know how to take a joke, you can’t win a fight for your life, you don’t know the first thing about strategy or diplomacy, you’re a hypocritical asshole, you don’t know how to take sound advice…” Their chests brushing, Stiles comes to a stop. “Would you like me to go on?”

            Seeing Derek’s jaw tense and sensing along their connection as Derek prepares himself for the next insult, Stiles sends a whisper of “I’m sorry” that he hopes Derek gets before he goes on without waiting for a response. “Would you like me to tell your betas about how I poured my heart out to you, told you I fucking loved you, gave you my virginity, and you couldn’t be bothered to say anything back? Just walked off into the woods the next morning?”

            He hears Scott start to growl and Allison holding him back before he can do something stupid, like try to get between Derek and Stiles.

            As Derek scoffs Stiles feels a whisper of apology sent back his way. “You’re a child, Stiles. You don’t know what love is.” He reaches out a hand to touch Stiles’ arm but Stiles swats it away with a growl, knowing if he lets Derek touch him like that he’ll crumple and won’t be able to keep this up. “I’m sorry if you thought there was something here that was about more than sex, but that’s not my problem. You just need to get over it and follow orders for once in your life.”

            Closing his eyes for a second as he steals himself, Stiles opens them again as he shifts to beta form. He knows the pack see his purely alpha red eyes when he hears a confused murmur rise up from them. “I am sick and tired of taking orders from you, Hale.” With a clawed hand, he shoves Derek in the chest. “Why should I? The pack would be way better off with me as their alpha.”

            Derek grabs a tight hold of Stiles’ wrist, going into beta shift as well. “ _You_ as their alpha? They wouldn’t last a week.”

            Growling, Stiles lunges. As he twists his wrist free and rakes the claw of the other hand across Derek’s chest, he hears the betas yelling and scrambling toward the porch to break them apart. Both he and Derek growl at them to stay back. They do, though Stiles can tell from their restlessness that they’re readying to jump in at any second. He puts them out of his mind and focuses on Derek, who’s going for a full frontal attack and tackling Stiles off the side of the porch. Rolling several feet, Stiles comes out on top and straddles Derek as he pins both of Derek’s wrists to the ground above his head. Derek struggles against the hold, but Stiles is using all of his newfound alpha strength, so it’s not as easy as it once was. When Derek can’t get free, he roars and snaps his fangs at Stiles in an attempt to cow him but Stiles only roars right back.

            “Quit the foreplay and just get on with it, Stiles,” Peter sneers as he comes out of the woods at last, stopping next to the struggling alphas. “Unless you don’t have the stomach and have decided to back out?”

            “Back out?” Scott asks. “Stiles, what is he talking out?”

            “Stay out of this, Scott,” Stiles growls.

            “But –“

            “ _I said shut up!_ ” he roars, looking away from Derek for a second to look at his best friend, who cowers at the look on his face and the order he put behind the roar. The guilt gets pushed down as deep as it can as Stiles looks at Peter next. He squeezes his hands around Derek’s wrists; digging his claws in and making Derek whine and thrash against his hold even more. “No, I’m not backing out; I’m fucking tired of this asshole telling me what to do.” Turning back and leaning down so their noses are brushing, Stiles looks Derek in the eyes and gives the signal along their connection as he whispers, “I’m done.” With that he sinks his fangs in Derek’s neck and tears, narrowly avoiding the jugular.

            As Derek lets his body go limp, as the potion kicks in just in time, Stiles stands up and ignores the taste of Derek’s blood filling his mouth even after he spits it out, ignores the echo of pain he feels in his own throat due to the bond. He takes a deep breath and looks at the pack, all of them standing more still than he has ever seen, their panic and confusion and sorrow scenting the air.

            “Stiles…” Scott whispers, his mouth gaping and his eyes glued to Derek. “What have you done?”

            “What I had to,” he replies before looking at Peter, who’s smirking in satisfaction. “There. It’s done.”

            Peter steps forward and grips Stiles by his shoulders. “Well done. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

            Jaw clenched, fangs digging into his lower lip, Stiles glares and brushes Peter’s hands off. “Don’t fucking touch me. I did what you wanted, Derek’s been taken out and the pack is mine. Now get out of my sight.”

            “Aww,” Peter croons, stepping in Stiles’ space and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, putting his back to Derek. He leans in and whispers in Stiles’ ear, lips brushing the skin and making Stiles shiver in disgust. “Don’t be like that, Stiles. I may have put the idea in your head, but this plan was all yours; this was what you wanted. Don’t tell me you’re regretting it now that it’s all done?”

            Stiles looks over to Lydia, who’s inched over to Allison and grabbed her wrist. The hunter takes her eyes off Stiles and Peter to look at Lydia then at Derek’s body when the banshee gives a subtle nod in that direction. Her eyes widen, which Stiles takes as the sign that Derek has started to get up while Peter is occupied. She reaches into her back pocket where Stiles knows she keeps at least one of her knives.

            “No,” Stiles responds, voice firm, “I’m not regretting anything.” Taking a short step back and turning so that he’s facing Peter, Stiles grabs a hold of the arm still around his shoulders. “And you wanna know why?”

            Giving a long-suffering sigh, Peter asks in a condescending tone, “Why don’t you regret it, Stiles?”

            Movement behind Peter catches Stiles’ eye, making him smirk widely and tighten his hold on Peter’s arm. “Because I’m getting exactly what I want – what I need.” Before Peter can ask what he means by that -- before Peter can make any move at all -- Stiles takes hold of his other arm while Derek comes into Stiles’ field of vision again, wrapping an arm around Peter’s waist and a hand around his throat, claws unsheathed.

            “Oh my,” Peter chuckles as the pack surrounds them, growling and ready to back them up. “I can’t say I ever thought you of all people would out maneuver me, Derek.” He smirks at Stiles then behind him, where he can guess Lydia is. “You two, sure; you’re the brains of this little operation. But my nephew? He tends to mess things up.”

            “Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” Stiles growls, so ready to get this over with. Not looking away from Peter, Stiles speaks to Lydia over his shoulder. “You wanna do the honors? We all know you have the most reason to make sure this asshole never comes back again.”

            “Aw, Stiles, I thought we really had some-” Peter doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Derek digs in his claws, blood flowing freely down his hand.

            “You might want to hurry up with whatever you had planned for him before Derek just kills him himself,” Stiles can’t help but snort with a little bit of mirth, earning him a growl from Derek. He just rolls his eyes.

            Lydia steps up next to them, one of her own knives in hand. She smiles sweetly at Peter. “You’re going to regret you ever messed with any of us – most of all me.”

 

* * *

 

            Once Peter is dead – like for real dead; they burn his body to ashes, split them into separate containers, and release them into the wind, the lake, and at the edge of the woods at the edge of Hale property – once they do that, they have a talk with the pack back at the loft. After Lydia, Stiles, and Derek shower obviously.

            “So, wait, you guys have this like super special bond now? You can hear each other’s thoughts, feel each other’s pain, feel each other’s emotions?” Scott asks from the couch where he, Allison, and Isaac are curled around each other. In one of the armchairs Jackson is curled around Lydia in a similar fashion, probably preparing for a breakdown after what she did to Peter.

            It takes Stiles longer to respond than it should, Derek distracting him as he scent marks behind his ear. They’re practically twined around each other on the rug in the middle of the living room, having given the other chair to Erica and Boyd. Normally Stiles would feel weird about the PDA, but after this afternoon he doesn’t fucking care; he just needs to feel, hear, and smell that Derek is okay. “Um…” He thinks about his answer, playing with Derek’s fingers. “We can only really hear coherent thoughts when we really focus, like during our fight, otherwise they’re pretty vague. It’s mostly just pain and emotions. Plus we’re more sensitive to each other.”

            “What d’you mean?” Allison asks, brow furrowed. “Aren’t you all already sensitive to each other, being pack and all?”

            “We are,” Derek answers this time, unburying his face from Stiles’ hair, “but you know how Scott, even when he was first turned, could scent track you or hear your heartbeat no matter how separated you two got?” Allison nods. “It’s like that but intensified.”

            Stiles hums his agreement, head turned into Derek’s neck to start scent marking of his own. “Yeah, you guys know how you hadn’t been able to hear Derek’s heartbeat because of Lydia’s potion? I could still hear it, which is a damn good thing because I wouldn’t have been able to think straight otherwise.”

            Jackson snorts. “You two are nauseating enough right now as it is, I can’t imagine how much worse the scent marking would be if you had thought he’d died too.”

            “You don’t really have a foot to stand on right now, sweetie,” Lydia says in her sticky sweet, condescending tone accompanied by the sound of her hand patting Jackson’s cheek. The pack laughs as Jackson grumbles. Stiles laughs into Derek’s skin, his smile growing when he feels Derek tighten his arms and place a kiss on top of his head, in sync in their happiness and contentment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: faked character death and off-screen character death - which were both hinted at in the previous chapter, but I wanted to warn you guys just in case.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. The end has finally come. It's been a long journey, but it's been rad. And I just wanna thank everyone who's stuck around from the beginning as well as everyone who's come in in the middle and anyone who's read this after its completion. This fic wouldn't have been half as fun to write if it hadn't been for your feedback, your theories, and just any and all questions y'all have had. So really, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. I hope you've enjoyed it and that this ending is what you've all been waiting for.

            “No, that just won’t do,” Lydia sighs in exasperation from the other side of the living room, hands on her hips and eyes on the ceiling like it’s somehow going to give her strength. “Move it back to the northern wall.”

            Stiles flops over the arm of the couch with a groan after doing what he’s told, face buried in the cushion. He’s tired and sweaty and just wants to be done moving all the downstairs furniture into the pack house – a job that was supposed to be done _by the whole pack_ , but here he is, doing it by himself, while Lydia orders him where to put everything according to feng shui or whatever. Meanwhile, everyone else is – actually, he doesn’t know where everyone else is.

            Turning his head so that his cheek is pressed into the cushion, Stiles asks, “Where the hell is everyone else?”

            “Shouldn’t you know that?” She sits down on the other side of the couch, probably checking its arrangement from this view. “You being co-alpha and all and having connections to them?”

            Stiles rolls his eyes as he crawls the rest of the way onto the couch, putting his head in Lydia’s lap. To this day it still marvels him that he’s allowed to do this because even before he turned wolfy -- but after she found out about everything -- he wouldn’t have even dared. The past few months, though, the whole pack has gotten closer than ever and Lydia is basically his best friend – after Scott, of course. Anyway, he lies contently and answers her question while she runs her fingers through his hair. “You know, probably better than I do, that the pack bond only tells me and Derek when any of you are in danger, not your location or anything. Which is why I asked.”

            “How am I supposed to know where they are?” Lydia responds, using the tone that Stiles knows means she’s just as annoyed as him, but she’s saving the scathing remarks for when the others get there.

            Which, there must have been some special signal he wasn’t aware of because just as she finishes her sentence he hears the Camaro pulling up the long dirt road leading through the woods from the main road, followed by Allison and Erica’s cars and what is probably the truck carrying the furniture for the bedrooms. Sighing, Stiles looks up at Lydia and raises his eyebrows to communicate that the others are coming finally. Her lips purse and her eyes narrow before she smirks. Stiles knows better than to question Lydia when she makes that expression, so he just decides to follow her lead.

            Scott is the first one in, bounding into the living room like the puppy he is and over to the couch to look at them with a grin. “Hey guys! Sorry we were all late, had a problem with the delivery. Living room looks great though!”

            “What was the problem?” Lydia asks, voice sickly sweet.

            “Huh?” Scott turns back around, having been distracted by Allison and Isaac carrying stuff in. “Oh, first the driver got lost because he’s not from around here and the streets can be kinda confusing sometimes, y’know? So he stopped in town and asked someone for directions, right? Only I guess it was someone who hadn’t been in town in a while or something because they didn’t know the house had been rebuilt, so the driver calls Derek to ask why he was given directions to an old wreck. So we, uh, had to go take care of that.”

            “And that took all of you?” is Lydia’s response, which makes Stiles snort.

            Scott cocks his head and opens his mouth to answer, but Erica calls for him from outside, telling him to bring in his own damn shit. Stiles shakes his head and just watches the others as they bring in furniture and possessions to keep in the rooms each pack member gets in the house. When Jackson comes in carrying stuff for Lydia’s room, she just shoos him up the stairs and tells him she’ll be up in a few to tell him where everything goes; he grumbles but does as he’s told.

            “Still so whipped,” Stiles snorts, earning him a growl from the staircase and a tug of his hair from Lydia. “Ow.”

            “Oh hush, that didn’t hurt,” she huffs, rolling her eyes at him. “And like you have any room to make any jokes.”

            “Please,” he sniffs, crossing his arms over his chest and holding back a smirk as he hears Derek come in, “if anyone’s whipped in the relationship it’s Derek.”

            “Is that so?” said man asks, carrying the frame for his – _their_ – bed on his shoulder. “Who was it last night that said he’d do just about anything if he could just come?”

            “I said that because you were being a dick and _not doing what I asked you to_ ,” Stiles growls with a glare. “Anyway, you weren’t any better last week when you were literally _whining and begging_ for me to just get in-”

            “ _Shut up_ ,” Derek grumbles, continuing past the living room and up to the master bedroom.

            “Aw, what’s the matter, big guy? You can dish it out but you can’t take it unless it’s in the ass?” Stiles calls after him with a laugh.

            “SHUT UP, STILES,” the whole pack yells.

            “Just for that, you can all fend for yourselves for dinner. _After_ you finish unpacking and arranging your rooms.”

            “Your mate is a tyrant,” Isaac whines from what sounds like his room.

            Derek huffs. “I know.”

            Stiles rolls his eyes but along their connection he sends a wave of the happiness and contentment he is feeling, smiling when he gets the same in return – until, that is, he feels pain in his foot like something heavy has landed on it just as he hears a crash from their bedroom. “Oww, what the hell is going on up there?”

            “My bad!” Erica laughs, not sounding sorry in the least. “I got Derek all flustered when I asked him to expand on the revelation that is your sex life.”

            “Yeah,” Stiles snorts, “he’s a prude like that.”

            Just as he finishes that comment he’s smacked by Lydia as she passes him to go upstairs and earns a growl from his mate that sounds suspiciously like a threat to withhold sex indefinitely. Grinning widely, Stiles pounds up the stairs and into his and Derek’s bedroom.

            Ah, it’s good to be home, surrounded by pack. By family.


End file.
